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MORNING AND EVE SHE WALK 


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POEMS: 


WITH 


Auobiographic and other Alotes. 
(ILLUSTRATED BY DARLEY, HOPPIN, AND OTHERS.) 


BY T. H. STOCKTON, 


CHAPLAIN TO CONGRESS. 


PHILADELPHIA: 


WILLIAM 8S. & ALFRED MARTIEN, 
606 CHESTNUT STREET. 
1862. 


Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1861, 
BY THOMAS H. STOCKTON, 


In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States in 
and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 


WILLIAM 8. YOUNG, PRINTER. 


TTERERY 


ra7 


a ANY ONE 


i jn Who finds either Pleasure or Profit in its Perusal : 
: y ea Y : iy 
Ie from 


The sprightly Youth at Home or School, | 


up to / 
OUR CAPITAL-PRESIDENT: 
This Volume is 
Th . Wrededtentedt 
With most sincere Respect and Affection 
ern ara 
The Beipicr. 


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PREFACE. 


It may seem strange that such a book as this should 
appear at all; especially, that it should venture abroad 
under present circumstances. But the truth is simple, 
and the case clear. 

When I returned from Washington, in March; before 
the war began, and while we hoped it might be avoided ; 
I was so debilitated as to be unfit for my ministry, even 
in the feeblest form of it, and had reason to think that 
life drew near its close. Being again in my study, wish- 
ing light employment, and having occasionally been called 
upon for a collection of poems, chiefly written in my 
youth, and long out of print; I concluded that, if unable 
to fulfil my larger designs, I might prepare a somewhat 
better volume than the former, and, perhaps, give a little 
pleasure and do a little good by its publication. Com- 
mencing thus, I urged the printer to quick progress, lest 
I should not see it through the press. But, the war 

1 


vi PREFACE. 


opened; the extra session of Congress came on; my 
health, by the grace of God, responded to my duty; and 
the book, of course, was suspended. Afterward, its com- 
pletion seemed necessary; and so—here it is! As a 
father very naturally said of his son—‘ Nobody thinks 
more of him than I do!” so, if this volume shall an- 
swer any worthy purpose, no one will be more glad of 
it than myself. Indeed, I will be deeply grateful for it. 
The Title might have been—Porms oF THIRTY-FIVE 
YEARS: for, as will be seen by their dates, they range 
through the whole interval from boyhood to the present. 
Other particulars will be found in the APPENDIX. 


Tire 
Philadelphia: December 1, 1861. 


CONTENTS. 


RHYTHM. PAGE 1-205. 


Date. Title. Page 
1834. FAITH AND SIGHT,—PARTI. . é é fe 1 

sb: FAITH AND SIGHT,—PART II. ; : : 25 
1831. SNOW,—RURAL AND CITY SCENES, . 5 43 

ce MAN,—SKETCHES OF OUR EARTH-HOME, . - 59 
1835. MAY IN-THE woops, . : , é : t7 
1838. THE DUEL,—GRAVES AND CILLEY, - : Of 
1855. THE THREE HARPS, . : . - : 104. 
1838. THE FIRST MAN, . : 3 a A 112 

oo THE FIRST WOMAN, . ; ' . ih ys 
1855. MELTING THE ICE, . ; 5 5 : 122 
1852. SOUND OF THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN, é c 127 
1855. THE CATHEDRAL BELL, ; é A A 129 
1855. THE TWO ANGELS, * 2 3 3 A 131 
1849. A PLEASANT SPIRIT, x “ : ° low 
1852. DEATH OF HENRY CLAY, A ‘ ‘ i 134 
1858. TRUE-HEARTED GRIEF, : é . : 136 
1858. BIDE YOUR TIME, : ; ; : 138 
1831. VISIT TO A MOTHER’S GRAVE, : : 4 140 
1832. THANKSGIVING FOR THE BIBLE, ; > é 144 
1837. THE BIBLE,—ITS THREE DISTINCTIONS, . S 147 
1831. A MAN IN HELL, , A ; A “ 150 


1832, THE MOMENT OF DEATH, . : : ; 154. 


GONE ENTS, 


UNCHECKED VERSE, 156 
INDULGENCE, 160 
THE PLEASANT SURPRISE, 4 163 
WASHINGTON AT PRAYER, 165 
THE GENIUS OF POETRY, ‘ 170 
MELANCHOLY, 4 : 195 
DEATH OF REV. S. DOUGHTY, 179 
DEATH OF REY. W. KESLEY, 184 
THE FUNERAL, 187 
GENIUS, A : : 192 
THE DEATH OF THE YEAR, 195 
PROSPECTS OF DEATH, 197 
IMMORTALITY, . - 198 
THE RESURRECTION, 199 
DUT yew A : 200 
SYMBOLS, 200 
THE REFUGE, . 201 
TO A YOUNG FRIEND, 202 
PRAYER FOR A FAMILY OF MY FRIENDS, ; ; 203 
MORSE AND REMORSE, ° . : ; 205 
RHYME. ~PAGH 207-285. 
COLUMBUS, OR THE DISCOVERY OF THE NEW WORLD, 207 
HORSEBACK ON THE HEIGHT, . 218 
THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTION, 221 
THE RAIN-CLOUDS, : ; 225 
COMMUNION WITH GOD, 227 
A MIDNIGHT RAPTURE, 230 
MY DAUGHTER’S BIRTH-DAY, 232 
THE INVITATION, : 234 
TO MARY, . 236 
SATAN, . 4 4 234, 
FASHION, . ; : 241 
TO A SKELETON, _ . 245 
THE COMING OF THE SHOWER, 247 
THE MOMENTARY GLANCE, 248 
APPROVED UNTO GOD, 251 
THE MOTHER’S PRAYER, 252 
MY SORROWS, ; : 254. 
OPPORTUNITY, 258 


CONTENTS. 1X 


1858. FIFTY YEARS OLD, . : - : : 259 

1829. T0 A FIRE-FLY, 3 : : 2 . 260 

1844, FEAR, $ . F P : : 261 

1827. THE CONTRITE, ; : 3 ; ; 262 

1847. EPITAPH, . E ‘ 3 ; ‘ 262 
HYMNS. 

1837. THE EXISTENCE OF GOD, A a ; F 2638 
ES THE UNITY OF GOD, S , ‘ ‘ 264 
“ THE TRUTH OF GOD, . ; $ : : 265 

1841. THE LORD’S POOR, . : : ? ‘ 266 

1858. “sTAND UP FOR JESUS,” : ‘ : - 268 
«“ “@LORY TO GOD,” . ‘ - : ‘ 270 
of ‘NOT UNTO US,” j - 5 : ; 273 
‘‘ _ CHRIST’S DAY OF POWER, . : : ‘ 275 

1844. SUNDAY SCHOOL HYMN, : : 3 : 277 

1855. THE TRUE REFUGE, : A : 278 

1858. CHEERFUL GRATITUDE, : ; ‘ , 279 

1845. CHRISTMAS HYMN, : ‘ ; ? ; 280 
he CHURCH DEBT, . : : Rs A . 282 

1861. NATIONAL HYMN, . F : ; : 284 

APPENDIX. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHIC AND OTHER NOTES, ; 287-321 


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ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Subject. Designer. Engraver. 
NATURE,—THE POETESS OF GOD, HOPPIN, FRANK R. STOCKTON. 
THE PATRIARCH’S INHERITANCE, HOPPIN, — 

CARE OF THE CATTLE, —— ___—sCOr FRANK R. STOCKTON. 
OCEAN VIEW, HOPPIN, “e 
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HE HAILS HIS OWN; 


P. 34. 


FAITH AND SIGHT: 


OR, 


THE SPIRIT-WORLD AND SENSE-WORLD. 


“ For we walk by faith, not by sight.”—2 Cor. v. 7. 


PART FIRST. 


THEORY OF THE DEVINE GOVERNMENT OF THE WORLD. 


Sections.—I. The Invitation; II. The Authority; ITI. A Sinless 
World; IV. The Sinful World; V. The Will of God—Redemption ; 
VI. Summaries of Progress; VII. Current Will of God—Foundation 
Facts; VIII. Illustrations; IX. Review; X. The Great Trial; XI. 


Improvement; XII. Transition. 


PART FIRST. 


el LEE. Reva 


I.—THE INVITATION. 


WE are immortal. Hence the open page, 
Poetic, breathes a brother’s first desire 

For fit communion. Come, whoe’er thou art: 
However high, disdain not, Prince of pomp! 

And thou, poor Slave of shame! however low, 
Distrust not, in thy lone, suspicious grief, 

The equal numbers of fraternal love. 

Come, learn the lay! it humbly seeks thy. good, 
And claims—a thoughtful mind and feeling heart. 


II.— THE AUTHORITY. 


The Brsxz is the text-book of my theme: 
And, though nor harp nor muse assist the song, 
I gladly venture on sublimer help— 

Invoke the holy, all-inspiring gifts 

Of Him, our Father! God of truth and grace! 


III.—A SINLESS WORLD. 


First, let the artless verse attempt to show 
Some faint conception of a sinless world. 

Had not the gentle Eve inclined her ear, 
Touch’d with strange music, to the tempter’s voice ; 


4 


And had not Adam, fondly, husband-like, 

For weal or woe, his fair companion’s fate 
Embraced, in love—though not the less in sin; 
And had their hallow’d nature, never lost, 
Supremely ruled in all their rising train 

Of sons and daughters—as their evil, now; 
Then, in the universal reign of peace, 

The earth had never known a curse, and man, 
With daily blessings, thick as sunbeams, pour’d 
In rich diffusion round him, had gone forth, 
Without a fear, to walk the world in joy. 

Then, haply, had the even-balanced sphere 
Revolved in endless Spring; and Eden still 
Beheld her flowers in fadeless beauty fresh, 
And all her varied charms, of bloom or life, 

In rapid transit spread through every land ; 
Till, from the rising to the setting sun, 

Karth had become one boundless Paradise ; 

And saintly nations, from the Trees of Life, 
Waving their healthful boughs by every stream, 
Had pluck’d the fruit of immortality. 

Vision had then been harmless: sensual bliss 
Rightly restrain’d by nature, taught of God, 
With bonds that none had broken, none deplored, 
Had been the spirit’s free inheritance: 

The bodily organs, perfect in their kind, 
Unerring in perception, all aglow 

With instant sympathies, had been allied 

To perfect objects, thronging heaven and earth: 
And the whole man, among the works divine, 
Had seem’d a living harp, so tenderly tuned, 
That every breath, of power to lift a leaf, 
Tranced him with self-enchanting harmony. 


5 


What Nature, then—the Poetess of God! 
Had sweetly sung, as on her emerald hills, 
Morning and eve she walk’d, with crown of stars, 
And dewy sandals, while her golden lyre, 
Quivering with music, glisten’d in the play 
Of the first eastern or last western beams : 
What Art—inspired by Him, Great Architect! 
Who built the universe, and served by hands 
Of finest skill, with vigor never tired— 

Had rear’d, surpassing later works of sin, 

In nobler ornament of height and plain, 
Magnificent and firm; or framed to float, 

With easier motion, graceful, swift and safe, 

On fairer streams and smoother lakes and seas; 
Or form’d of lighter texture, high to soar, 
Through skies serene, ne’er darken’d by a storm, 
O’er fragrant landscapes, lying low and calm— 
The hearts of the familiar passengers, 

Thrilling indeed with rapture, but, from fear 
As free as though they slumber’d in the shade 
Of the home-arbors whence they took their flight: 
What then Philosophy—her brow unwreathed, 
The image of a violet on her breast, 

Meek student at the sacred feet of truth— 

Had learn’d in joy and taught mankind in love: 
And what Religion—beauteously array’d 

In bloodless vestments whiter than the snow, 
By rural altar, deck’d with fruits and flowers, 
Standing in angel glory, had enjoin’d 

On grateful subjects happy to obey: 

All this ambitious thought might dare to tell, 
But, ill succeed: so, let this dim-drawn sketch 
Persuade thy soul, that, nae ne sin appear’d, 


6 
Had no avenging evil smote the scene 
Of forfeited delight, and made our race 
The weeping victims of remorse and death, 
_ The things of vision had presented charms 
That wisdom might have sought without a blush, 
And man pursued the pleasant walk of sight, 
No guilt to stain, no danger to deter. 

And, not by sight alone: but, so by faith 
Tlis easy journey would have won its way. 
Not then, as often now, would faith have met 
The check of doubts—however vain, still sad. 
Tokens that none could question would have stay’d 
His trusting spirit. Nature’s ample frame, 
Without one blemish in the perfect whole, 
No sign of wrong, or pain, or grief, or death, 
Had furnish’d naught an error to suggest: 
But truth all round had glitter’d like the light— 
Written in gold upon the azure sky, 
In rippling silver on the green of earth: 
And the pure heart, communing with its forms, 
Had found the living rapture in them all. 
Oft, too, some elder of the saintly host, 
His time of trial ended, and the hour 
Of long-foreseen ascension come at last, 
Blessing the groups that stood to watch his flight, 
Would then, Elijah-like, have whirl’d away, 
In car of fiery splendor, seen and lost; 
Or else, like Enoch, vanish’d from the haunts 
Where joyfully he walk’d with God on earth, 
To walk forever with his God in heaven. 
Nor these alone: but, frequent intercourse 
With angel visitants, descending swift 
In welcome glory, till they gently touch’d 


= 
4 


The shining lawn, and closed their brilliant plumes, 

Themselves examples of the hosts above, 

And eloquent in praises of their home. 

Nor only these: but, oft the Voice Divine, 

In garden bowers, or from the upper air,— 

All nature hushing at the well-known sound— 

ltself proclaiming universal laws, 

And promises of everlasting love, 

Had perfected the certainty of faith: 

And man thus favor’d, with the better world 

Grown quite familiar, would have felt and talk’d, 

As surely of that far and fair abode, 

As now the emigrant on Hurope’s shore, 

The tide or wind awaiting, speaks of climes 

Beyond the western wave, where friends long gone, 

But heard from since and soon to be rejoin’d, 

Have found a free and happy woodland home. 
Thus, then, had earth remain’d unknown to sin, 

By faith and sight combined would man have walk’d: 

Sight—the perception of a perfect form, 

*Mid myriad perfect objects strewn around; 

Faith—the perception of a perfect soul, 

Discerning glories from the eye conceal’d; 

And so, with such high faculties endow’d, 

Allied to kindred worlds, so different still, 

His days had pass’d in fellowship with both, 

In due proportion drawing bliss from each, 

Child of his God and heir to earth and heaven! 


IV. THE SINFUL WORLD. 


Behold the fruit of sin! what now his state? 
How cling unto his form disease and pain, 
And countless frailties: all its organs gross, 


8 


And fast decaying—tending to the tomb: 

While all without betrays the ancient curse, 

Its mingling smoke-wreaths darkening earth and sky. 
Meantime the soul, enervate, languid, dull, 

Laments faith lost, and all its aids withdrawn— 

God, silent; angels, absent; and mankind, 

Though daily passing to eternity, 

Not rising radiant through the rosy air, 

Flush’d with immortal youth, and girt with songs 
Of circling seraphim, ascending all 

As lightly as their music, seen and heard 

By smiling groups long watching from below; 
But—the illusion of their presence left, 

The pale, cold motionless clay, which friends embrace 
And bathe with tears—themselves escaping swift, 
Invisibly, and quietly, away. 

Thus, thrown on home resources; vision dim, 

And all its fields in ruin; faith depress’d, 

And things celestial hidden or forgot; 

Man blindly wanders—both worlds veil’d in gloom! 


V. THE WILL OF GOD—REDEMPTION. 


What now the will of God? He, when the earth 
First swell’d into its place, and took its course 

In finish’d fulness, round and orderly; 

Beheld well pleased, and styled it very good. 

His glory then the shining orb reveal’d— 

The glory of His wisdom, power and love; 

And, from the happy hymns of human hearts, 
Heard through all heavens, He caught the sweetest praise, 
Returning still degrees of greater joy. 

Say, then, shall man, his honors thus withdrawn, 
Forever pine among these scenes impair’d? 


9 


’*Mid vision’s relics straying faint and sad, 

Still nursing, as he slowly passes on, 

The merest semblance of his former faith? 

Tell me, O World! and has thy peerless lord 

No hope above a worm’s? No higher good 
Than dreams and vain amusements ending soon 
In all-consuming, all-obscuring death? 

Speak, Holy Truth? Is this the will Divine? 
Or shall not rather some redeeming plan 

Of love and wisdom, save the fallen race? 

All hail, the happy answer! Heaven and Earth, 
Responsive, cry—Redemption! voices loud, 
From Paradise and Calvary, repeat 

The thrilling music; Time, exulting, shouts, 
Charming all worlds. within his luminous range ; 
And elder Space, wakening the dark beyond, 
Prolongs the tone in all his solitudes. 


VI. SUMMARIES OF PROGRESS. 


The day of mercy opens—one of God’s 

Long, spiritual days, that sweep o’er centuries. 
The Patriarchs watch its slowly-kindling dawn, 
Trace the symbolic flush on all its clouds, 
And, trusting the atonement, die in peace: 
The Prophets mark the broader, brighter rays 
Of some transcendent wonder, yet unseen, 

And mount, in cars of fire, to meet its coming : 
While, last, the Apostles hail the full-orb’d Sun— 
Bask in his blaze, chill in his strange eclipse, 
Exult in his emergence, and proclaim 

His after glory fix’d, supreme, eternal. 

The Church, indeed, no more discerns his disc, 
But merely transient vapors intervene : 


10 


No gleam of light comes down to cheer her path 

But from that hidden Sun, and soon the shades 

Shall vanish from the clear, high noon, forever. 
Or—FEden’s exiles heard the promise first, 

Through them the heritage of all mankind: 

And, many ages after, he who dwelt 

Beneath the oak in Moreh—friend of God! 

Learn’d fuller tidings, worthy of his faith : 

And later seers, in coarse and homely garb, 

But quick with genius lit by living fire, 

The long succession of the chosen race 

Aroused with strains of eloquence sublime, 

And bade them ’wait the coming of their Prince— 

The great Messiah! till, at last, He came: 

Came, the Desired of all! in due time came, 

With richest mercy ransoming the world. 


VII. CURRENT WILL OF GOD—FOUNDATION FACTS. 


What now the will supreme? to walk by sight? 
Nay, but by faith. Yet how conclude we thus? 
The way is simple and the answer plain. 

God has done all that could be done to make 

Our faith complete; and furnish’d ample means 
To fit us for the unseen spheres of faith ; 

And, sending forth His duly-sanction’d Word, 
Enjoins on all the pilgrimage of faith : 

But, while these truths are certain, there exists 

No PROOF HISTORIC, SACRED OR PROFANE 

No EVIDENCE IN NATURE’S AMPLE BOUNDS, 

THAT GOD HAS EVER TOUCH’D THE REALM OF SIGHT, 
OR WROUGHT ONE MOMENT TO RESTORE MANKIND 
To PERFECT JOY IN SENSUAL THINGS OF EARTH ! 


11 


VIII. ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Here wide extends an unobstructed field, 
Where many views attract the solemn mind, 
And thought would dwell—but time forbids delay, 
And rapid outlines only mark the page. 

Then tell me,—has our vaunting race improved, 
In any of its faculties, since sin 
First bound them all in slavish chains severe ? 
Or does not Revelation clearly teach, 
And human legends, like the clouds that float 
In common day, reflect the same true light, 
That man, in native attributes, in means 
Of relative joyance, and in length of years, 
Unceasingly has grown degenerate ? 

In ages close succeeding to the Fall, 
Did God revoke the curse? renew the sons 
Of Eden’s exiles in immortal strength? 
Adorn their daughters with immortal bloom ? 
And clothe the world in all its morning charms ? 
This would have been an easy task to Him, 
Who made with ease the whole. But, was it done? 
Nay—but the flowing vigor in their veins, 
With lingering elements of endless life 
Still thrilling, well sustain’d their portly forms, 
And they, who, blest with fruit of Paradise, 
Had lived forever, did, with grosser food, 
Inhale the breezes of long centuries, 
And walk in sunshine near a thousand years. 
Karth, too, though faded, not convulsed and rent, 
Still pictured beauty on her hills and dales, 
And Nature, looking from her azure throne, 
Blighted, not wreck’d, beheld her rolling sphere. 


‘ 


12 


But, not alone was power Divine withheld 
From renovation, it was soon display’d 
In punishment—-so terrible, that time 
Still sighs at the remembrance and turns pale. 
For all the families of all the earth, 
With one exception, faithless, walk’d by sight. 
A race of sensualists! and He who made, 
Determined to destroy them. Then arose— 
Then rush’d—a tempest sweeping to the poles, 
Alive with lightnings, flashing through the gloom ; 
And shouting thunders, bounding on the spoil. 
Then burst the lowest fountains of the deep, 
And floods, outsurging, mingled with the storm— 
Falling and rising, swelling, mounting all, 
And, dashing proudly o’er the earth’s last peak, 
Triumphant roll’d above the buried world. 
Turn, now, and see the ruptured sphere emerge 
From wide subsiding oceans. What report? 
Did God its long-lost loveliness restore? 
And man—the lonely silence peopling fast 
With noisy nations—gloriously endow 
With choicer faculties that could not fail? 
Nay, but the riven orb, as though too fair 
Its former likeness of primeval pomp, 
Still too seductive for a race depraved, 
Came from the wave with deeper, broader lines 
Of cursing, on its rugged outlines stamp’d: 
While man, composed of feebler elements, 
Soon told his days, and, from the new-sown fields 
Of swiftly ripening life, the greedy grave 
Ingather’d full, more frequent harvestings. 
Descend the stream of time. Mark all its way. 
And tell me—are the scenes it waters now, 


13 


More beauteous than the past? Do they who live 
Along its borders, nerve a stronger arm— 
Or move with firmer, lighter step—or pierce 
The distance or the shade with keener glance— 
Or hear delightful music with a bliss 
More exquisite—or breathe the air of life 
A longer season than their sires of old? 
This night the world and its inhabitants 
Are pressing on in their declining course. 
Never has God renew’d the earth or man, 
And call’d His creatures to a life of sense. 
Such life, absorbing all the higher powers, 
His law prohibits. This He does, alone— 
And this demands unceasing praise and love— 
Provides fit means for few probational years, 
And wide distributes o’er the waste of ill, 
The sweet remains of good, that none may faint: 
And the meek pilgrim, shadow’d by a cloud, 
Soon bless the warm returning light, and walk 
With quicker step the happy road to heaven. 
And more: not only shines the open truth, 
That man and nature languish unrepair’d, 
Still waning both; but, warning voices loud, 
By day and night, from soil and sky, far, near, 
Appealing always to all human hearts, 
Announce in tones of deep, assuring awe, 
That God, the Glorious! Holy Sire Supreme! 
Must for his children destine nobler ends, 
And mark, offended, such as heed them not. 
Survey the globe. Let no unhallow’d dread, 
In fair Religion’s name, delude thy soul. 
Is evil witness’d? call it so—nor dare 
Name i God’s work, and thence presume it good. 


14 


a 


If God choose evil, ’tis an after-choice ; 

The sad corrective of foregoing sin: 

All His original designs are good. 

Look as a worshiper of heavenly Truth, 

And speak as one regardful of his vows. 

Range then the earth, with more deliberate thought 
Than here presents the fleet, descriptive sketch. 
See polar wastes of snow and ice immense: 

See torrid deserts, vast as those of frost, 

Fountless and shrubless, scorch’d with constant fires: 
See the still wider reach of ocean’s roll, 

By frequent tempests swept, and strewn with wrecks, 
Moaning with few survivors, faint and pale: 

See the volcanic mountain, smoking yet 

Above the buried spoil of ages past, 

And living pomp, that eyes the height with fear: 
See the strong earthquake, sporting with the pride 
Of capital cities, cast in closing gulfs: 

See the hush’d march of famine—all the land 
Behind her, moving slow with thin wan groups, 
Forsaking foodless homes for barren plains: 

See the day darken’d with the settling train, 

Of fierce diseases, filling every house 

With pain and sorrow. Shrink not from the plague, 
But follow in his sounding path, and hark !— 

The wailing nations all the earth around: 

Or writhing in their helpless agony, 

Or fleeing wildly, smitten as they flee: 

While death—triumphant tyrant !—proud exclaims: 
Sun, moon and stars illuminate my reign; 

The mountains are the pillars of my throne, 

The hollow vales, my crowded sepulchres, 

All space, all time, all life entirely mine! 


15 


Discern we truth? Then surely human bliss, 
Well understood, no longer prompts the search 
For sensual good: to walk by sight is sin, 

Is folly, madness; and the light of faith 
The only guide to glory and to God. 

Turn, then, with grateful joy—another view, 
And fairer far, invites the kindling eye. 

Though no repairing power restores the realm 
Of visual wonder to its first estate, 

All has been done for faith! All man could ask, 
All God could grant, has freely been conferr’d. 
Again review our course. In Eden’s bowers, 
Attend the voice Divine: in Bethlehem’s stall, 
Behold the mighty Victor, humbly born: 

And all the solemn interval between— 

Four thousand years slow rolling round the sun— 
Fill with perpetual symbols of the plan: 
Tradition, promise, prophecy and type, 

Temple and altar, priest and sacrifice. 

Here let reflection hold the heart in pause, 
The soul’s perceptions, by the films of sin 
Obscured, had darker grown than those of sense. 
The bodily eye yet glow’d with transient spark, 
And nature’s fading charms attracted still: 

But faith, the spirit’s vision, fell quite blind— 

Its objects bright as ever, but unseen. 

Then stray’d imperial nations: God unknown; 
Immortal life and blest abode on high 

At most a doubtful dream; the very world 

Design’d its Maker’s mirror, turn’d in whole 

Into a house of idols—there they bow’d, 

Adoring sun, moon, stars; men, birds, and beasts; 
Reptiles and plants; and blocks and stones deform’d: 


16 


Though some, attempting wisdom, sage and bard, 
Fancied vain schemes, exciting crime and woe, 
Duping and duped, the darkness unrelieved. 
But, faith’s decline was seen by One in heaven, 
Who, while He left the body and the globe 
Imperfect and unremedied, came down— 
Down from the summit of eternal power, 
To deepest earthly depths—relumed the soul, 
Unveil’d its birth-right and redeem’d the race. 
This, then, Messiah’s mission. Mark His life. 
Lo! while He speaks, reviving faith beholds 
Consummate glory beaming from afar: 
Nor doubts the great Instructor. Holiness 
Arrays Him, like a spotless, seamless robe: 
His gentle lips distil perpetual love 
The best reward on faithful friends bestow’d, 
The sole return for most malignant hate: 
And daily wonders, starting at His touch, 
Or to His call responding; watching close 


The meaning of His eye, and reading well 
The secret orders of His voiceless will, 

In quick obedience seen; confirm the truth. 
Nor yet His aim achieved. For not alone 
He shows the beauty of the better world, 
And proffers there the heirs of faith a home; 
But, thus the work of light completed, now 
Performs the work of purity—resigns 

His sinless life in agony and shame 

On thy dark cross, O shuddering Calvary! 
There flows His blood, there full atonement flows 
For all mankind; there weeping faith exults, 
Not only now her visual power restored, 

Not only all her ancient orbs new risen, 

Not only promised higher, happier range, 


17 


But, fitted for possession: every stain 

Wash’d in the cleansing fountain, every wish 

In love consenting to her Makeyr’s will. 

Nor yet her evidence exhausted: soon 

The buried Saviour from the tomb returns— 

A mighty monarch, who, His foes subdued, 

In rocky chamber sought a Sabbath’s rest, 

And now, awaked, the wounds of battle heal’d, 

Crown’d with immortal majesty comes forth, 

Triumphantly serene: Himself the pledge 

Of all His people’s victory. Nor yet 

Thy last support display’d: behold, O Faith! 

From Olivet’s green cone to yon white cloud 

That waits His coming in the blue expanse, 

Thy Lord, ascending, slow retires from sight, 

And thence regains the throne from which He came. 
In faith’s behalf thus wrought Redeeming Love, 

On earth enshrined. And, since His glad return 

To heavenly glory, whence His priestly hands 

Still scatter blessings on the Church below; 

His true apostles, quicken’d by His word, 

And by His grace anointed, evermore 

Have call’d the grovelling nations to attempt 

The heights of bliss supernal: while, with these 

A matchless Agent, filling time and space, 

Has moved in secret, touching every soul 

Taught of the truth, with subtile light and sense, 

On hardest hearts impressing clear and strong 

Sin, evil, judgment; warning, wooing all 

In solemn love. All hail, mysterious Power! 

Thou promised Paraclete Divine! all hail! 

Still prompt the fallen to high, celestial aims, 

Convict, convert, refine, and save the world! 


ay 
7 Po 
~— 


18 


Grod has done all for faith. On peaceful wings, 
Fast flies the gospel to remotest lands— 
Where, though pale nature still the curse deplores, 
And human beauty, fading, fills the tomb; 
Yet, theme of grateful rapture! Christ’s design 
Extending seeks to purge the mental eye, 
Disclose the scenes of never-withering bloom, 
And never-ending life, and so allure 
Dejected millions to estatic joy! 

God has done all for faith. No more she pines, 
_ Blind, deaf, and dumb, in unassisted woe. 
With eye serene she sweeps the range of heaven, 
With ear acute she catches all its songs, 
And tells her transport with a tongue of fire. 
No longer now she wears a spotted garb, 
But folds around her robes of snowy gloss, 
Fit for the holiest groups that grace the skies; 
While o’er her shoulders spread her ample wings 
Of golden plumage, nerved with tireless strength 
To waft her lightly upward to the throne. 

In every varied view, the truth is clear: 
Jehovah wills not that His children walk 
The way of vision, but, the path of faith. 
Did He design a life of sense, then soon, 
What now in distant prospect faith descries, 
Would come at once and come alike to all. 
Renewing might would traverse nature’s frame, 
And, the last trace of evil swept away, 
Recoyer’d man, with youth immortal crown’d— 
Prince royal in a commonwealth of bliss ! 
Would hold his court mid scenes as fair and grand, 
As all-contriving Wisdom could invent, 
Omnipotence create, or boundless Love 


19 


Prompt as a kingdom worthy of its heir. 

But if, untaught, we could imagine such 

As now God’s will—the great intent would fail, 
Fail universally, forever fail. 

Though sanction’d by the Eternal’s signet ring, 
Labor, and pain, and death would stamp the plan 
With fiendish scorn and triumph in the dust: 
And impotence be written on the brow 

Of all-producing, all-upholding power. 

Who dare assert what thus in fancy smites 

The shrinking heart, back falling on the truth. 
The truth! To faith He calls us, calls us all, 
In tones which none who heed uncertain deem. 
We allare sojourners; and, this agreed, 

Nature accords: her instant voices loud, 

All voices of all things in heaven and earth, 
Implore mankind—Be wise, and walk by faith! 


IX. REVIEW. 


And now survey the world. Has God’s design, 
Begun so early, and so long pursued 

In patient kindness, human life controll’d? 
What says the past? Repair to Olivet, 

And hear the lingering Saviour’s last command: 
“Go, range the world; proclaim to every soul 
Faith and salvation!” Lo! the gates of heaven 
Close on His rising form. From age to age, 
Now slow returning, note the plain event: 

And what the answer? Has the light of truth, 
Excelling as it ought the partial sun, 

From every moral depth expell’d the shades, 
And bathed its cloudless sphere in common day? 


20 


And is the earth confess’d the heavenward road 
Of transient pilgrims, striving to become, 

By private care, and mutual social aids, 

Meet for their high and holy destiny? 

Nay, far inferior to the solar range, 

Truth scarce illumes a quarter of her orb: 
While millions rove beneath her fulgent noon, 
In wilful blindness dark as starless night. 

Thus still, and eighteen centuries gone by! 
Disclose, O Truth! or ye who crowd her train: 
- Disclose the cause that so retards the day! 

Has Christ himself with sovereign will ordain’d 
This unrelenting gloom? Nay, else His lips 
The great commission never had pronounced. 
Christians have been too little like their Lord; 
Christians have proved unfaithful to their trust. 
Can any see the secret dawning here? 

How obviots rather is the sin—the shame! 


X. THE GREAT TRIAL. 
A trial has been going on, a great 
And solemn trial of the human heart; 
Watch’d by superior powers with anxious eye. 
See! Jesus died for every soul of man, 
Then, life resuming, tenderly enjoin’d— 
‘“‘Go forth, ye few, and bear the news to all!” 
The work began. Resources deep and full, 
Accessible each moment, well supplied 
Their fainting courage and renew’d their strength. 
And now, methinks, while came the Spirit down 
To lend almighty help, the Father look’d; 
And the Son look’d; and holy angels look’d; 
To see the progress of this grand display, 


21 


In mercy made to save a ruin’d world. 

Faith was the watchword of the.spreading Church; 
And long as this was sounded, victory 

With gorgeous trophies strew’d her onward march, 
Till Jove’s imperial eagle fled the scene, 

And the dove perch’d upon the crest of Rome. 
What now? Alas, the realm of sight subdued, 
The fairest portion of the earth possess’d, 
Remoter glories lost their former charms, 
Surrounding joys attain’d ascendant power, 

And the throned Church soon slept upon the throne. 
With shouts of gladness she had left the plains 
Of widow’d Judah, scorn’d and scourged, to move 
In swelling triumph toward the central height 

Of Gentile rule; but, that achievement gain’d, 
Forgot the outer boundaries of gloom, 

And clung inglorious to her hard-won rest. 

Thus, when the sword of faith had clear’d her way, 
The smiling scenes of vision stayed her course; 
And, as the world had been her aim, her heaven, 
This won, her only duty seem’d repose. 

How passed her time? Much in amusements vain, 
And numberless inventions for the eye. 

And not the eye alone: the boast became, 

That true religion every sense regales. 

And so, magnific temples, altars, shrines ; 
Sculptures and pictures; ornaments of gold, 

Of silver, and of gems; with splendid lights 
Sparkling on all; still added genial warmth, 

Rare music, breath of flowers, diffusive clouds 

Of incense sweet to faintness; every art 

Of princely priests, from princely palaces, 

And princely festivals; in princely robes, 


22 

With princely retinues and revenues, 
And every seal of power and badge of pride: 
In short, for sight, sense, all things—few for faith. 
QO, had the Church, in memory of her Lord, 
Repell’d the tempter, and pursued her toil; 
Long ere to-day might truth have fill’d the earth, 
And all the nations hail’d the God of all. 

How—if a reverent mind may muse on themes 
So high, with human feelings—how did God 
The scenes of trial, passing thus, behold? 
And how, the wounded Son? And how the hosts 
Of holy angels, waiting to receive 
With open arms their new associates? 
Would fancy err, to say, in solemn tones, 
That God, and Christ, and angels, saw and felt 
Man was so deeply sunk that scarce the hand 
Divine could reach him—choosing still to sink? 
The angels knew—for so had God ordain’d: 
That none should mingle with their happy groups, 
Who could not offer love for love, and join 
Their lofty hymns of grateful harmony. 
But here were some so void of gratitude, 
So lost to feelings of fraternal love, 
That when the blest Redeemer shed His blood 
In rich atonement for their sins, and show’d 
A shining path ascending to the skies, 
And then desired them to extend the news, 
And seek the proffer’d glory—they refused: 
Nor yet for Him, their neighbors, or themselves, 
Would yield compliance !—but, acquired at last 
Fair visual pleasures, cast their faith aside; 
And, while unnumber’d millions never knew 
That Christ had walk’d the earth; or that heaven’s gate, 


23 


By Him unclosed, stood open for mankind; 
Spent all their days in sporting with their spoils, 
And let the world with twisted roses lead 

The hosts that should have broken iron chains. 
Sharp trial thus the human heart endures, 

In every eye disgraced; and dull must be, 

The hope, for many, of a home above. 

But think not here a melancholy mind 
Forgets the faithful and their noble deeds. 
Rather, their virtues, sufferings, toils, success, 
Beam forth in bright relief. These well portray 
What all should be, by equal duties bound; 
And intimate the beauty of the sphere, 

When all shall be with equal grace adorn’d. 

These have preserved the world—the very salt 

That check’d corruption’s working: men whose prayers, 
Raised in the name of Jesus, have prevail’d 

With roused and incensed Justice, to restrain 

The living thunders, waving for their flight 

The plumes that sparkle with consuming fire. 

If such the Church, no pencil need describe 
The World—professional of sensual joys. 

Thus, then, the clear conclusion: G'od has wrought 
From time’s commencement on the scheme of farth ; 
While man, in contravention of the plan, 

Has spent his ages on the works of sight. 

True, countless myriads ardently have sought 
The better things above, and doubtless gain’d. 
Yet these compared with scorners, are but few: 
Like rain-drops, falling from the teeming clouds, 
Innumerous, but mingling with the sea, 

Bear small proportion to the boundless mass, 
Touching the wave and in a moment lost. 


D4 


_ 


XI. IMPROVEMENT. 

But brighter times have open’d. Zion, now, 
Repenting of her long, inglorious rest, 
Works daily wonders in her Maker’s name. 
Fast grows the deep conviction, which at last 
Must rule all hearts—Man’s duty, whole and sole, - 
Is to get good and do good: first embrace 
The plan of mercy, saving one’s own soul; 
And then, by every holy means extend 
The priceless blessing diligently round. 

But, lest the opening scenes too long allure 
The straying step, I pause. Another page, 
Deferr’d for apt conclusion, may reveal 
The thoughts that oft have trembled o’er this theme, 
But never sought before the letter’d line, 
Or hoped the tender aid of tuneful song. 


XII. TRANSITION. 


Meantime, communing with thy silent soul, 
Whose eye indulgent still attends the verse, 

I sketch the objects of the Christian’s faith, 

Of individual interest vast and deep, 

And seeking thus to turn thine erring feet, 

Still downward tending; or, the heavenward road 
Imprinting, cheer thee onward to thy home; 
Shall rest assured—if thine own weal be won, 
Thy grateful love will prompt thy zeal, to spread 
The name of Christ and save thy brother’s soul. 


(END OF PART FIRST.) 


FAITH AND SIGHT: 


OR, 


THE SPIRIT-WORLD AND SENSE-WORLD. 


“ For we walk by faith, not by sight.’—2 Cor. v. 7. 


PART SECOND. 


EXAMPLE: 
ABRAHAM—FRIEND OF GOD, AND FATHER OF THE FAITHFUL. 


Sections.—I. Introduction: II. The Walk of Faith: III. Ur of 
the Chaldees; IV. The Divine Call; V. Obedience; VI. Canaan; 
VII. The Good Land; VIII. Incidental Survey; IX. Divine Inter- 
view; X. Prophetic Vision; XI. Review and Results. 


PART SECOND. 


THE EXAMPLE. 


I. INTRODUCTION. 


As one who setteth jewels, when a few 
Of rarest worth demand his nicest skill, 
Sees no material equal to the stones 
With beauty to enchase them; yet resolves, 
Pleased with the honorable trust, to try 
Upon the best he finds his utmost art: 
So I, attempting to exhibit truths 
Of highest value, though the humble verse 
That shows may not adorn them, still pursue 
My glad employ with quick but watchful care, 
And leave no blemish that I know to shun. 
Here, then, as beams the diamond on its frame, 
May truth impart enchantment to the lay. 

But now a jealous spirit in my heart 
Starts up offended and propounds the thought: 
Why truth degrade, comparing with a gem? 
This, though it burn as brightly as a star 
On a virgin’s brow, or shine in signet ring 
Worn by a prince, is useless still; while that, 
Superior far, not only charms—but saves! 
I see the just distinction, feel its force, 
And further seek an illustration fit. 
Thus then I come to lead from flowing founts, 


28 


Of living water, fresh, reviving streams 

Even to my neighbors’ doors: meanwhile, assured 
The noble aim is worthy patient toil, 

I trust the channel will not stain the wave 

But pass it on like crystal; and indulge 

The ardent hope—Q, let it not be vain! 

That soon the vital rills shall prompt the soil 

To bloomy growth, and so entice the feet 

Of many to the brink, who, while they see 

The verdant margin gay with sprinkled flowers: 
Some proving by their breath—the brook is sweet; 
Some by their spotless beauty—it is pure; 

And others, gratefully and meekly bent, 

With gentle whisper saying—taste and live! 
Evincing as they bow their filial love, 

The dimpled current kissing: shall consent 

To such attractions, slight but sanctified, 

And taste, and drink, and live, and love forever. 


II. THE WALK OF FAITH. 


THE WALK OF FAITH! This first invites our thought. 

And here a light, long sphered above the sky, 

Descending from its lofty home, may lead, 

Like a near guide, our smooth and pleasant way. 
The Father of the faithful! Abraham! 

Whose heavenly paradise, as Adam’s fair, 

But never cursed with blight and never closed, 

Is still his countless children’s happy home, 

Where each reposes in unbroken rest, 

As though reclining by the patriarch’s side, 

And leaning on his bosom—he pursued 

The holy path, and hence his high renown. 


III. UR OF THE CHALDEES. 


Beneath the palm-trees of Chaldean Ur, 

And by the willowy margins of its streams, 
In humble duties pass’d his lengthen’d youth. 
There oft, as years elapsed, his thoughtful soul 
Held high communion with the Sire of all. 
Sublime and holy doctrines, taught in tones 
Of living glory touch’d with warmest love; 
Or sent in silent inspirations, rife 

With ever-present wisdom, felt like air; 
Redeem’d and raised his spirit, ’till he scorn’d 
His idol rites ancestral, rapt in hope 

To serve his Maker. Then the awful Voice 

_ Outspoke again, and reverently he heard, 
With deepest homage vowing to obey. 


IV. THE DIVINE CALL. 


It call’d him to dissolve the strongest ties 

That bind our best affections to the earth: 
Resign at once his country, kindred, home; 
The dearest objects of his earliest love ; 
Forsake them, and forever: never more 

To share their sweet enjoyments, never more 
To look upon their charms; not e’en when age, 
With youthful thoughts reviving, should desire 
First scenes to visit, first delights regain. 

It call’d him to go out—he knew not where; 
To rest—he knew not when: his God his guide, 
His duty onward, and the certain sound 

Of blessed promise cheering all the road. 


3* 


V. OBEDIENCE. 


Thus went he forth from Ur. Thus went he on 
From Haran’s fertile precincts, where he left 
The bones of Terah, and the pleasant home 

’ Of Nahor, settled for a life of rest. 

Though nearly fourscore years had fled away, 
The pastoral prince had scarcely reach’d his prime; 
And, daily wending southward, still in front 
His tall, erect, commanding person moved, 
With tireless step, and face of noble mien, 

- Leading his pilgrim band with all their train, 
Camels, and lowing herds, and bleating flocks. 
While ever and anon he caught the joy 

Of sportive Lot’s glad wonder, or was charm’d 
By queenly Sarah riding graceful by, 

Unveiling oft her dangerous beauty, still 

In fadeless bloom as brilliant as the rose, 

With smiling lips that utter’d naught but love. 


VI. CANAAN. 


At length the verdant bound of Canaan pass’d, 
He pitch’d his tent in Sichem, ’neath the shade 
Of Moreh’s oaks umbrageous. Resting there— 
The great command in perfect faith fulfill’d— 
Again he saw the Holy One approach, 

And heard the glorious promise of reward 
Repeated, plighting all that lovely land 

His seed’s possession. Then the Form withdrew: 
And soon the grateful stranger’s pious hands 
With zealous toil the spot of audience mark’d, 
Rearing an humble altar; duly served 

With simple rites of purest sacrifice. 


VII. THE GOOD LAND. 


There was “a good land.” Thus the voice Divine, 
That erst the world in angel hearing blest, 
Instructed Moses, when, in after years, 

To Jordan’s verge he led the chosen tribes. 

A goodly land—where countless water-brooks 
From valley depths and fountains welling up, 
And springing down from rocky hills sublime, 
Flow’d freshly on. A land in season rich 

With golden wheat reposing ripe and full, 

And earlier barley waved by vernal airs; 

Where cloud-like vines luxuriantly droop’d, 
With clusters greater than a man could bear; 
And shadowing fig-trees shower’d delicious fruit; 
While cool pomegranates, flush’d with juicy seed; 
And olive groves, distilling softest oil; 

And honey, sweetening all the balmy cliffs; 
Enhanced the common festival: a land 

Not only thus with bounteous growth supplied 
Of varied food, but stored with means of art— 
Where iron vein’d the stones, and rugged slopes 
Struck by a spear disclosed their copper hoards. 


VIII. INCIDENTAL SURVEY. 


From Moreh down to Bethel journey’d then 
The joyful tribe; and there the Lord beheld 
Another altar rear’d, and heard anew 

The patriarchal priest invoke his name. 

Still downward tending, lo! in strange reverse 
Of former plenty, famine smote the scene: 
And the pale land, like blighted Eden, sat 
Beneath her wither’d palm in silent grief. 


52 


Thus urged along, he sought the fruitful shores 
Of Egypt’s worship’d river. Safely thence 
Returning full, he breathed the promised south 
In brief but glad repose, and then repair’d 
Again to Bethel’s altar. All the land, 

Like blooming Eden now, replenish’d, smiled. 
High on the waiting pile renewing soon 

The sacrificial flame, he woke the air 

To olden strains of well-remember’d praise, 
Ascending sweetly to the throne of God. 


IX. DIVINE INTERVIEW. 


The country thus survey’d, the wanderer’s tent 
On Ephraim’s central mountain waving wide 

Its breezy folds, and all his substance round— 
Herds in the vales, and flocks upon the cliffs: 
Again his God appear’d. If fancy’s tongue, 
That seldom falters save with thoughts Divine, 
Might dare to speak where voice of truth is still, 
Fain would she dwell on this delightful scene. 
Her eye is fix’d! There stands the pious chief, 
Apart from all his clan. His simple robe, 
Ungirdled, loosely floats around his form— 
Composed in silent thought. His graceful beard 
Hangs low upon his breast, and while his soul 
Feasts on its hidden bliss, his vacant eyes, 
Scarce conscious, and forgetful of their fire, 
Enjoy a dreamy pleasure, moving slow 

From point to point, unbidden. Fresh the wind 
That fans his brow, and stirring in its sound 
Among the branches of the few tall trees 

That cast the shadows of their rustling leaves 


33 


Darkly around him, but he feels and hears 
As ina trance. The high and ample peak 
Commands a view immense, but still his heart, 
As though its outward blessings called for rites 
Of inward worship, tends the secret flame 
Of love-enkindled incense. Suddenly— 
Tis Godt 

His awe-struck eyes dilate, his soul 
Starts at the vision. Every shadow melts 
In more than sunshine, and the swift winds pause. 
The mountain summit, like a golden throne, 
Burns with the splendor of the King of kings, 
And trembles at His step. And yet He comes 
Enshrined as man, and veil’d in glowing robe 
Of shaded glory—full of light and love. 
Prone lies the noblest of the sons of earth, 
Unworthy e’en to press the ground that gleams 
With feet Divine: confess’d a very worm— 
A worm! but by the Highest own’d a friend ! 
And hail’d with friendly words: ‘Lift up thine eyes, 
Look boldly forth from this superior height, — 
The north and south, the east and west behold: 
Thine all the boundless scene! For thee it blooms: 
To thee and thine I give the whole forever. 
Thy seed shall measure with the dust, and none 
Who counts not first the sand shall number them. 
Arise, thou faithful one! and walk the land ; 
Hixplore its length and breadth, the ample space 
Shall be thy fair possession!” 

This pronounced, 

The Radiant Form withdraws. And now return 
Sunshine and shade, and cool, delicious airs, 
Restoring common joys. The saintly chief 


34 


Reviving, stands erect; and still his robes, 

With lingering glory, make the noon-beams pale. 

Soon all his senses feel the flowing soul, 

Quick with new life and thrilling power intense. 

His eyes, undazzled, drink the pouring sun, 

And sweep entranced the swelling scene below— 

Mountains, and hills, and plains, and lakes and streams. 
O, blest, enchanting vision! All around 

KEnrich’d with purest green, and all remote 

Adorn’d with deepest blue; the bending sky 

And farthest summits mingling fainter hues, 

Walling the world with sapphire. All he sees, 

He hails his own; and burns with lordly flame. 

His the down-rushing torrents; his the brooks, 

Flashing from every vale; and his the lakes, 

Wide sparkling bright, as though a shower of gems 

On silver falling scatter’d countless lights. 

His too the rolling woods, the laughing meads, 

And rocks of waving grapes—his every wind, 

Stirring the world with life and breathing far 

Fragrance and music—his the silent cloud, 

That fleetly glides along the soft mid-air, 

Reflecting, moon-like, from its upper plain 

Of snowy beauty, every ray from heaven; 

And o’er the under landscape leading on 

Its shadowy darkness, running up and down 

The ever-changing mountains. Who may tell 

The many sources of his gushing joy? 

Not only Jordan, and its palmy plains; 

Lot’s Citied Garden; and the orient heights 

Of fruitful Gilead, sweeping to the marge 

Of Bashan’s mellow pastures; not alone 

Around, though fair, and fairer still remote, 


39 


The visual charms delight his ardent soul ; 

But wider regions—lost in distant haze, 

Or shut from sight by intercepting bounds— 
Fairest of all. Far flies his circling thought 
From Edom’s southern plains to Hermon’s brow, 
Frost-wreathed, and lowlands steep’d in streaming dew, 
And on to snow-crown’d Lebanon, with slopes 

Of fadeless verdure, nursed by living founts, 
And glorious cedars, swayed by balmy winds, 

In whose high boughs the eagle builds her nest, 
And on whose roots the fearful lion sleeps; 

And thence to Tabor’s central cone, and fields 

Of Eden-like Esdrelon; and the oaks 

Of flowery Carmel, waving o’er the sea; 

And Sharon’s rosy bloom, and Eshcol’s vale, 
Purple with vines from Hebron to the coast. 

O’er all the range his ravish’d mind expands, 
Warm with high hopes of wondrous days to come. 
The promise—like a meteor—how it lights 

The gloom of future ages! Lonely there 

The childless stranger stands—sublime in faith; 
Sure that the ten throned nations reigning round, 
In stately power, with pomp of idol shrines, 

Shall yield to his descendants; shall behold 

His mightier seed—thick as the sea-shore sands— 
Countless as stars that crowd the clearest sky— 
Pouring their myriads over hill and dale, 

_ Casting the champion pride of princes down, 
Dashing the templed monsters in the dust, 
Sounding the trump of triumph through the land, 
Thronging the scene with holier, happier homes, 
And rearing high, to flame with heavenly fire, 
_Earth’s Only Altar to the Only God! 


36 


X. PROPHETIC VISION. 


What more may fancy venture? Taught of God 
In later truths that show the pilgrim’s mind, 

May not prophetic power be now inspired ? 

Well then thy rapture turns to breathless awe, 
Far-reaching seer! Well dost thou fold thy robe ~ 
Close to thy form, and,.sinking in the shade 

Of those dark fir-trees, lean upon the rock, 
Entranced by opening scenes that slowly move, 

In vivid vision., Lo! the ages come, 

Solemn and grand. First, Egypt’s teeming shores, 
Where late he shrunk from peril, now display’d 

In brighter glory, pass—but, throng’d with slaves, 
Oppress’d with toil, and drinking to the dregs 

The bitter cup of scorn. Are these thy seed? 

Ay, these! But check thy deep, paternal groans; 
For Justice bares his arm, The prince—see!—smites 
The haughty tyrant, cowering from his strokes 

Of ten-fold wrath! And onward move the tribes: 
They reach the strand, through parted billows march, 
Mount the firm shore, and blend their victor songs 
With the wild triumph of the waves, that toss 
Their perish’d masters proudly at their feet. 
—Now breaks a cloudless morning, and the sun 
Tires the blue east: but dark as midnight towers 
Yon mountain summit, and its deepen’d shade 
Casts a chill dread on all the camp below. 

The gather’d myriads stand aloof and quake; 
Quake at the rolling thunder, and the blast 

Of the long-sounding trumpet, and the glare 

Of glancing lightnings quivering down the gloom, 
And God’s own voice announcing sovereign law. 


57 


—But now, full Jordan, touch’d by priestly feet, 

Yields to a holy ark an open way, 

And lo! the long-succeeding hosts come up 

‘To win possession of their promised home. 

—Still pass the years, and with them war and blood. 

The valiant tribes, “neath brave judicial rule, 

Subdued, in turn subdue; and rising kings 

The heights of Zion crown with palace courts, 

And fair Moriah’s sacred summit grace 

With peerless temple own’d and blest of God. 

There shines the nation’s glory; there the eyes 

Of distant wanderers turn; there all the land 

Delights to take its tribute and adore. 

—But darker visions follow: prophet tongues, 

Stern, eloquent and bold, proclaim the storm 

Of coming wrath; and foreign legions rush, 

Resistless as a whirlwind, and return, 

With captive bands idolatrous and vile, 

To far Chaldea’s plains—where he, their sire! 

First heard the voice and wrought the will Divine. 

—And yet, another change relieves the gloom: 

Back moves the train, again the temple shines, 

New princes rise, and olden pomp revives. 

—At length, with many gather’d emblems bright, 

And high expectance of some nobler chief— 

Some great Messiah! he beholds a star, 

From melting haze outsparkling near the earth 

And beaming on the birth-place. Shepherds there, 

And sages led by wisdom more than man’s, 

Kneel by a manger honor’d more than thrones, 

And breathe their blessings on the slumbering Babe: 

While saints and angels hovering o’er the scene, 

Illume the night with wings that shine like noon, 
4 


38 


And sing the songs that ravish earth and heaven. 
There wakes the promised Wonder! There—but swift 
The charming vision fades, and hurrying years 
Rush by, and then—a pause, and with it change: 
The birth-time’s sad reverse. Now, noon is night: 
And on a cross, that rises on a hill, 

Near a vast city’s darken’d walls and towers, 

In manhood’s prime, the Blessed One expires! 
Heaven is a silent solitude; the earth 

Still as a sepulchre; and walls and towers, 

_ And that stain’d hill, all tremble in the gloom; 
And thrills the wood that bears the sacred Corpse. 
—But yet another view. There stand a group 

Of meek disciples. Who is He that breathes 

His parting blessing on them? See, He mounts— 
Unwine’d, unaided, mounts above the clouds! 
Who thus ascends on high? ‘The conquer’d grave, 
Chain’d by her victim Victor, gives reply! 

—Well may the favor’d patriarch wake in smiles, 
Well may he rise in rapture! More than all, 

He sought the vision of his mightiest seed, 

The opening of the day to bless the world, 

The day of Christ—he saw it, and was glad! 


XI. REVIEW AND RESULTS. 


Here, then, if fancy’s colors have not hid 
The point intended, in the patriarch see 

The walk of faith! No metaphoric veil 

Dims the clear truth. An oral call was heard, 
Step after step a weary way pursued, 

And outward good supplied a rich reward. 
But haply some will breathe a fervent wish 


That such a call and promise would invite 
Their ready feet. How gladly would they bid 
Their friends and home and native land farewell, 
And that forever! Staff in hand, their robes 
Well girded, and their sandals surely bound, 
How freely start! how steadily proceed! 
So strong the attraction still of earthly bliss. 

But had no higher object here been sought, 
The Lord had never spoken; nor the groves 
Of Ur, or Haran, lost the wanderer’s track. 
Else, settled once in Canaan, there the prince 
Had reign’d immortal o’er immortal tribes 
Of children’s children spreading far and wide, 
With other nations melting round like snow, 
And their own glory lasting as the sun. 
But God had higher aim, and Abraham felt 
A power was in it tending to the sky. 
Hence, while th’ Almighty thus unseal’d the plan 
Long form’d of man’s redemption—calling one 
From all the world of idol worshipers 
To know and serve Him: one whose chosen seed 
Should smite the heathen, cleanse the land, and rear 
A holy state; to cherish holy truth, 
In sacred scrolls, and legal types sublime, 
And prophet eloquence Divinely wise ; 
Still, through the gloom of ages, beaming bright 
Above their deep-sunk neighbors, as a fire 
Shines from a hill-top o’er the midnight plains: 
By one blest people introducing thus 
The gracious scheme of universal love: 
While this the plan of God, his servant, warn’d 
By life’s brief years, he could not see it wrought; 
And charm’d with hopes that ever scorn the grave; 


40 


Look’d upward, strong in faith, aspiring there 
To nobler, fairer, more enduring joys. 

So, happy in the great design of God, 
And happy in his own obedient zeal, 
He turn’d his spirit toward its loftiest mark, 
And urged his glorious pilgrimage to heaven. 
“ By faith he sojourn’d in the promised land :” 
A faith that counted all around him strange, 
And most familiar grew with distant worlds. 
Still but a pilgrim here! Except in faith, 
No spot on earth his own! On, on he moved, 
From north to south, from east to west; in war, 
Swift as an eagle, sweeping to the north; 
Strong as a lion, bounding on his foes; 
Sure in the rescue of his captive friends: 
In peace, from mead to mead, from well to well, 
Verging among the cities; and, when tried, 
From Sarah’s quest to sad Moriah’s pile, 
All throbbing with his cherish’d son’s despair. 
Long thus in tents a simple life he led, 
With Isaac and with Jacob, heirs with him 
Of all the promises, expecting still 
A happier home in city fairer far, 
Whose firm foundations God himself has laid, 
Whose many mansions own His mighty hand. 
And so he died in faith—not having gain’d 
The promised good, but seen it from afar, 
Believing and embracing; ever frank 
In meek confession of his pilgrim lot. 
And while he sought another country, ne’er 
To Padan-Aram turn’d his fond desire, 
Or soon he might have found his native fields: 
But in his heart a grander spirit burn’d, 


41 


Uptending ever toward a better land, 

A heavenly country: hence the God of heaven 

Was not ashamed to own him as His heir, 

But loved, and blest, and saved him—call’d him home ! 
Home to the City of the Faithful; home 

To regions worthy of the purer souls 

That scorn the lures of vision; home to climes 

Where all who mourn the mean estate of earth, 

May look forever on unclouded skies, 

And rest on bloom that cannot fade away. 


(END OF PART SECOND.) 


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—“‘THE TURNING STEEDS, 
WITH BACKWARD GLANCES EYE THE STOOPING SWAIN, 
PRICK UP THEIR EARS, AND, NEIGHING, SEEM TO TALK.” 


. 


P. 50. 


SNOW. 


‘Eirst Day: Ebening. 


Sections.—I. Theme; II. Commencement of the Snow Fall; III. 
Snow Similitudes; IV. Gazing Upward; V. Hill prospect before the 
Snow; VI. Care of the Cattle; VII. The Farmer’s Home; VIII. 
Scenes in the City; IX. Repose Contemplations; X. The Sailor 
supposed to be assured of Life; XI. The Christian—his Interests all 


safe. 


SNOW. 


FIRST DAY: EVENING. 


I. THEME. 


It always was a pleasant thing with me 
To watch the falling snow. And while [ live, 
The things that please me shall inspire my song. 


II. COMMENCEMENT OF THE SNOW FALL. 


Th’ innumerable specks come trembling down, 
And now the perfect and increasing flakes. 

See how the fluttering whiteness shuts the scene! 
The distant hills are lost; the nearer fade; 

And now the nearest by the crowding spots 

Are veiled from vision; and the rapid tide 

Of the close river is but heard to flow, 

Rushing in gloom among its stones and rocks. 


III. SNOW SIMILITUDES. 


I wonder not that from the earliest time, 
Fancy hath found her fond similitude 

Of all that’s fair and innocent, in snow. 

Haply the bard who saw it first descend, 

At once forgot the lily of the vale; 

And all the stainless blossoms of the spring; 
And ocean’s clearest pearls; and spotless down, 


46 


Soft on the cygnet’s fountain-rippled breast :— 
And sung of manly troth as undefiled, 
And virgin virtue pure as falling snow. 


IV. GAZING UPWARD. 


But hast thou e’er indulged the musing eye 

With upward gazing at the fleecy shower ? 

Look o’er the tree-tops; dazzlingly it comes 
Bewildering the unaccustomed sight. 

But look again. The sources of the snow 

No eye can reach. The crossing particles 

Distract the sight and bring the zenith low. 

Thus Providence is hidden by his gifts. 

Wide o’er the world his favors fall profuse; 

But none that lift the grateful glance may see 

The hand that scatters such exuberant good. 

But here is more the spirit may admire. 

Who can compute the multitude immense? 

Alas! vain man! how weak thy summon’d thought! 
Thy whole attention centred on a point! 

How different God! I wonder at his mind! 

This many-wavering throng, that might perplex 
The promptest angel in the heavens to count,— 
Distinctly floateth to the All-seeing Eye, 

As if a single solitary flake 

Lapsed in lone beauty from th’ o’ershadowing cloud. 
Thus, from his inaccessible high throne, 

Girt with eternal and excessive light— 

His boundless vision leisurely surveys 

The circling universe of shining orbs 

—In number far exceeding all the host 

Now dropping earthward, even though they spread 
The hills and dales of half the continent— 


47 


And notes each insect basking in the beams 
That warm the smallest and most distant world; 
And lingers on the man whose heart is pure, 
With constant love supplying all his need, 

And thought to crown him soon with endless joy. 


V. HILL PROSPECT BEFORE THE SNOW. 


Still falls the snow, as evening closes in. 

T’ve look’d for such a storm since first I rose; 
For mists were gath’ring at the break of day, 
And all the morn alternate light and shade 

In quick succession glided on the wind; 

Dark’ ning and bright’ning hill, and dale, and streain. 
By noon the air was hush’d; the vapors form’d 
One boundless mass, obscuring all the sky. 

Quiet, and gray, and motionless, it hung; 
Without an azure spot through which the sun 
Might flash upon the waters, or adorn 

The mountain’s brow with sudden golden crown. 
A few hourssince, I stood on yonder height: 
And thence a vast and varied landscape saw— 
Oh! how unlike the scene the morn will show. 

I traced the wide horizon—all around 

It seem’d to rest upon a range of hills; 

H’en where declining slopes the valley sought, 
More distant summits swelling rose between. 
Where’er [ turn’d, the forests, that were late 
Gay as the rainbow with their autumn hues, 
Tower’d on the uplands, barren, bleak, and bare; 
And all the lower mounds and fields were brown 
With wither’d grass, and strewn with faded leaves. 
I look’d upon the homestead—how the heart 
Leaps at the sound of home!—the tell-tale smoke 


48 


No slowly-whirling column rear’d; but roll’d 
Its light blue curls along the slanting roof, 
Spotted with moss and dark with many years, 
And floated thence in filmy mist away. 

The dog was at the door; beside the gate. 

The patient cattle waited for their food; 

And in the field, with high and tossing head, 
The wilding horses snuff’d the moist’ning air, 
Then spurn’d the frozen ground with iron hoof 
Swift as the flash and thundering as they ran. 
Nor could I but regard a half-starved crow, 
That clung unto a solitary stalk — 

Shelling an o’erlook’d nubbin greedily. 

Below me rush’d the river that I love— 

That soothes with rippling moan my summer noon, 
That laves my limbs and bears my bonny boat, 
And rings in winter with my sounding dumps. 
The few old trees around me scarce retain’d 
One lingering leaf; so often robb’d of all, 
They gave their honors to the first rude blast; 
But here and there a sapling vainly held 

Its shreds of gold and crimson.—Thus fond youth 
Clings to its cherish’d hopes, while wiser age, 
By disappointment taught from early years, 
Expects the storm, and meets it with a smile. 
Beside me open’d yon recluse ravine, 

Down which a lonely tributary stream 
Serenely glides at times, then, shouting wild, 
In crystal cascades leaps from rock to rock, 
Till, winding round the hill’s foot, glad it sees 
The mother tide, and bounds into her arms. 

In that still glen, the foliage of the woods 
Blown by the winds had gather’d into heaps 


49 


Along the shelvy banks; but frequent leaves 
Woo’d by some vagrant breeze, forsook their mates, 
And, curl’d in many a fairy form, away 

Launch’d on the stream and whirl’d into the depths. 
There, while I look’d around with curious glance, 
I spied some little wild-flowers, peering up, 

And leaning on the bosom of decay; 

Like orphans sleeping on a mother’s grave. 

Sweet sky-blue relics! how they won my love! 
Oh! might the winter spare them! but, alas! 
Like the last earthly hopes of dying men, 

H’en they must perish. Hre the morrow’s dawn 
The yet-descending snow shall all entomb. 

But that which pleased me most while there I stood, 
Was musing on the low and murky clouds, 

And sending fancy on a mission up, 

To see the sunshine of the world above. 

The eagle then was envied for his wings, 

But yet I seem’d myself to soar aloft 

And, passing swiftly through the chilling gloom, 
I saw the open firmament expand 

Lofty and wide, while in its midst the sun 
Lavish’d the fulness of his blazing beams, 

With warmth and brightness filling all the sky; 
And the whole mass of vapors shone below, 

A boundless, waveless sea of molten gold. 

But oh! how dark and cheerless seem’d the earth 
When fancy’s vision fled, and on that cold 

And barren peak, with folded arms I stood; 
O’erhung and girt with universal shade. 

It seem’d as if the visionary light 

Had glared so strongly on my glowing mind, 
That all beside was veil’d in twilight dim. 


5 


D0 


Thus when the cares of life, like winter clouds, 
Cast their dull shadows o’er my pilgrim path, 
My fainting soul I cheer with hopes of heaven. 
Above the gloom—triumphant faith exelaims— 
Above the gloom a radiant scene extends! 
There countless saints their harps and voices wake, 
And cherubim and seraphim unite 

Their sweet and sounding harmony; and wide 
The unveil’d glory of the Godhead shines. 
Soon shall the spirit’s pinions be released, 

And, high the gloom surmounting, gently fold 
ites spats plumage ’mid the sons of light. 
Then, waking from my trance, I wound along 
The steep descent, and soon reposed at home. 


VI. CARE OF THE CATTLE. 


Now to the field the jocund boys repair 

To drive the horses to their log retreat. 
Snorting and rearing, suddenly they start, 
Rush up the lane and romp around the door. 
Soon halter’d in their stalls, they still evince 
Their frolic humor, biting o’er the rails 

With heads awry; oft cow’ring at the sound 

Of threat’ning yoice—or unexpected blow. 
Then to the barn the bustling tenders haste, 
And pressing in the box the bearded sheaf 
Fast falls the straw before the keen-ede’d knife. 
With this in basket piled and tub of bran, 

And bucket dripping from the gushing fount, 
Again they seek the stable, there to mix 

The long-expected meal; the turning steeds, 
With backward glances, eye the stooping swain, 
Prick up their ears, and, neighing, seem to talk. 


51 


Hach soon receives his share; and while they feed, 
The careful boys unbind some wheaten sheaves, 
Arranging each a bed, and then with wisps 

Brush from their backs the melting snows away. 
While thus the stable thrives, in neighboring shed 
The cows are shelter’d by the buxom girls. 

They, while the meek-faced creatures chew their food, 
Sprinkled with salt, solicit with cold hands 

From swelling udders, stores of richest milk ; 

And then, with aprons thrown upon their heads, 
All deftly bear the full and brimming pails, 

And thrill the air with shrill and gladsome songs. 


Vil. THE FARMER'S HOME. 


The night is black—but home is bright and warm. 
The wide old fire-place heap’d with logs and brush, 
Crackles and flames; and ceiling, walls, and floor 
Glare with the ruddy light, and every face 

Glows with the heat: the candle, dimly pale, 
Resigns its honors to the rosy fire. 

The busy housewife now, on spotless cloth, 

Arrays the wholesome supper, clean and warm, 
And calls her charge. They gladly circle round, 
Wait the due blessing solemnly invoked, 

And then regale upon the full repast. 

Nor lack they converse; chief the ardent boys 
Talk of their bending snares and well-set traps, 
Anticipating for their morning prey, 

The strangled rabbit and imprison’d fox. 

The girls are more solicitous to learn 

If the rude jumpers are in good repair, 

And win the promise of a ride at night, 

To where the tuneful master once a-week, 


D2 
Strikes his steel key and leads the shrill-toned choir. 
The parents look and listen; pleased to mark 
Their young ones’ faces kindling with delight, 
Nor interpose a word to check their glee. 


VItI. SCENES IN THE CITY. 


A different scene the far off city shows. 

My fancy paints it as I oft have seen, 

When, wrapp’d about with comfortable cloak, 
My folded arms uplifting it in front, 

And with my hat drawn down upon my brows, 
I’ve slowly paced along to watch the erowd. 

The vision opens! ‘There the street extends— 
Long, straight, and narrowing to a distant point, 
Traced by the footway lamps; here, wide apart, 
But there, in gloom remote, on either side 
Contiguous shining, like a line of stars. 

High on the post beside me burns a flame 

That through its glass enclosure casts a light 
Brilliant and far; in which the hurried beau 
Lifts watch—notes hour—and hastens on his way. 
The houses brighten in the cheerful rays ; 
Above the doors, the golden-letter’d signs 
Reveal their names; but, o’er the shadowy eaves, 
The sight recoils from darkness absolute. 

Thick falls the downy shower; in shade unseen, 
But lit with crystal sparklings in the beams. 

The passing crowds with spread umbrellas haste 
Along the whitening walks; the low stoop lower, 
The tall uplift their silks and let them by, 

And equals, jostling, mutter as they pass. 

No linsey-woolsey roundabout appears, 

Nor homespun gown, yarn hose, and leather shoes. 


55 


But purple camblet, warm with costly fur, 

And soft with facing velvet, and adorn’d 

With many a silken ornament—enfolds 

The portly man; and, leaning on his arm, 

The tender fair, o’ertaken by the storm, 
Close-mantled in pelisse and double shawl, 

Trips with light feet, as if on May-buds treading, 
In cotton stockings and prunella shoes. 

Death wonders at her venturing, but smiles 

To think such beauty soon will be his own. 

The shop-boys now, the welcome hour arrived, 
Their windows barr’d, doors lock’d, and fire extinct— 
Haste to their evening pleasures; some in books 
Enjoy a treasure richer far than gold,— 

While others prim their dress and roam abroad, 
Intent alone on revelry and mirth. 

But still the druggist’s well-illumin’d bulks 
Their many-colored lucid globes display: 

And on the level surface of the snow, 

The strong reflections spread their rainbow tints. 
The auctioneer now mounts his nightly stand; 
The crowds attend; the bargains soon attract 
Their eager eyes, and while the crier darts 

His rapid glance around, and rattles out 
Incessant puffs of what his hand may hold— 

No matter what—the quick-caught offers swell; 
And haply some poor plough-boy lingering there, 
Fresh from the fields and witless of the trade, 
Nodding his foolish head, his lonely bid 
Himself enhances, wondering when the man 
Will get enough and let the hammer fall. 

The theatre, despite the storm, is full; 

And there,—if one may say who never saw— 


ik 


D4 


Tears steal adown the cheeks or laughs resound 

At spoken fiction, often read at home, 

With face as grave as if it never smiled, 

And eyes as dry as if they ne’er were wet. 

On move the hours. The streets are quiet now, 
Save where the gather’d hackmen wait the crowd 
About to leave the scenery of spring 

For winter’s cold and dreariness—there, loud 

The merry wretches crack their whips—and jokes. 


IX. REPOSE CONTEMPLATIONS. 


Abruptly I return; for fancy brings 

So many pictures to my inward sight, 

That scarce a volume would contain the sketch 

Of all their hues and images. I wake 

To the still gloom surrounding my repose. 
How silently it falls—the feathery snow! 

Not so the rain. Oh! many a wakeful hour 

I’ve listen’d gladly to the water-drops 

At midnight pattering on the humble roof; 

And it has seem’d—a simple dreamy thought— 

As if they tried t’ amuse my drowsy ear 

With tittle-tattle stories of the clouds. 

But not the slightest touch is audible 

Of soft-alighting snow. Of all-the flakes 

That drop upon the forest or the rock, 

Or settle on the roof, not one is heard. 

Thus everything has manner. Men there are 

Who, keep them quiet, never would fulfil 

Their destined mission—born to make a noise; 

While others in the bustling world grow sad, 

Confused and heartless; but, if left to form 


DO 


And execute their plans in quietude, 

The world shall wonder at the great result 

As o’er deep snows that gently fell at night. 
Here as T rest I cheerfully contrast 

My warmth and shelter with the scene without. 
And thus, perhaps, the covert fox may muse, 
And burrow’d rabbit, and the squirrel gray 

In hollow trunk, with stores of treasured nuts. 
But nobler thoughts shall now exalt the song 
That yields its music at the evening’s close. 


X. THE SAILOR SUPPOSED TO BE ASSURED OF LIFE. 


Here then I tune my harp. Awake, my muse! 
And sing the bliss of contrast stronger far. 

I never saw the deep; but fancy oft 

Has thought how happy would that sailor be, 

To whom some power assurance should afford, 
That, let his prow be pointed where it might, 

His trusted life should last. Oh! he could climb 
The yielding shrouds and swing along the yards, 
And in the uproar of the tempest chant, 

As if a free and disembodied sprite, _ 

His victor-song among the scudding clouds. 

The seas would yawn in vain; his fearless eye 
Would glance from gulf to gulf, from foam to foam, 
And joy to catch the lightning’s sudden flash; 
While high his heart would leap within to hear — 
The rolling thunder and the howling gale. 

The groan of rocking masts would soothe his ear, 
The bending of the spar would lull his soul; 

And then reviving ’neath the o’erbreaking wave, 
He’d mount again with shouts and cleave the storm. 


56 


But peace and danger walk not hand in hand. 
Vain were the wish for voyage free of risk,— 
Vain were the prayer to be assured of life. 


XI. THE CHRISTIAN—HIS INTERESTS ALL SAFE. 


Yet know we not that moral dangers throng 

The path of life?—more terrible by far 

Than thousand tempests on the billowy sea? 

But mark the Christian. He, confirm’d in faith, 
Strong in the promise of Omnipotence, 

With all the world soliciting to sin, 

And Satan tempting with an angel’s voice, 

And yearning heart inclining to their guile, 
Subdues himself and smiles at outward foes. 
Sunshine and storm alike are false to him; 

But, God-protected, still he walks in peace. 
Wealth—deck’d with golden diamond-studded crown, 
And purple robe and silver zone, emboss’d 

With radiant gems—invites him near his throne; 
Extends his all-attractive sceptre, calls, 

And calls again, entreats—but still in vain. 
Young Pleasure in her archéd gateway stands, 
In loose array and garlanded with flowers ;— 

O beauty rare! O most enchanting grace! 

She points the pilgrim to her Eden walks ; 

Her soft and virgin tones command the trees, 

To wave him welcome to their pleasant shades ;— 
The varied bloom to glow with fresher hues, 
And fill with sweeter fragrance all the air; 

And every breeze to waft the mingling songs 

Of mocking-bird, and thrush, and cooing dove, 
And fountain’s flowing melody, and moan 


oT 


Of many a distant murmuring water-fall. 

But, fair enchantress! all thy lures are vain; 

Thy gentle joys the lone one will not heed. 

Then, from the topmost cliff, a thrilling blast 

Rings through the echoing caves and wakes the vale. 
The meek disciple of the Son of Man 

Looks and beholds the queenly form of Fame! 
There shines her temple, and around it grow 

The greenest laurels, and her chosen few 

Breathe on the height a spiritual air, 

And seem to glow with immortality. 

One hand extends a fresh new-woven wreath, 

The other shows her steep ascending path. 

If aught alluring could seduce his soul 

’T would be the hope of such a fellowship. 

But in his heart a kind low-breathing voice 
Whispers thy name, O Heaven!—and on he moves— 
Nor could a thousand trumps his steps delay. 

Far other foes then urge their fierce assaults. 

Foul Unbelief the patient saint attends, 

With phrase sophistical and mocking wit 

To shake or shame his unsuspecting faith. 

Then Scorn salutes him with her hissing sneer— 
And pours from curling lips the hot reproach. 
While foaming Bigotry, a fire-eyed fiend, 

Steps from her neighboring path with words of hate. 
And waves with threats her red and dripping scourge. 
But still, with heart at ease and brow serene, 

Heir of the Lord! he sings and journeys on. 

Then still severer trials test his soul ;— 

Pale Want conducts him through a desert waste ; 
Disease outlays him on the burning sand; 

And Life and Death await the doubtful end; 


58 


But trusting still he murmurs not nor fears. 

All hail—thou pure and strong and happy man! 
Beset with foes, by sad afflictions tried, 

Child of the promise! Faithful one! all hail! 
Of all earth’s dangers, none can equal thine. 
The sea-toss’d mariner must yield to thee; 

And he that stands among the slain and hears’ 
The whistling balls of battle, must confess 

His perils are but sport compared to thine. 

One step against the Spirit’s guiding voice— 
One straying step might lead thee far from God, 
And not thy body only faint and die, 

But, all immortal, sink thy ransom’d soul— 

The fiends thy mates, and hell thy endless home. 
Thou knowest and yet thou smilest—blessed one! 
The name of Jesus ever on thy lips, 

The love of Jesus ever in thy heart, 

To thee the thought of death no sorrow brings, 
Hell hath no horrors, fiends, no power to harm. 
Thy hope hath fann’d the fragrant airs of heaven; 
E’en now she shines upon its outmost hill, 

As brilliant as an angel, and exults 

To turn the crown of glory in her hand, 

Which faith, beholding, cries—laid up for me! 


ry OR THE re aaa ina 
UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS yen 


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“LO! WHERE THE AMPLE OCEAN FILLS ITS SPHERE! 
SEE THE WHITE SPACE ALONG THE HORIZON— 
THAT SEEMING OUTLET TO INFINITY, 
BETWEEN THE CLOUD-LINE AND THE CEASELESS WAVES— 
SEE HOW THE LONE SHIP, DARKLING UP FROM DARK, 
LEANS LINGERING THERE, DWINDLES AND DISAPPEARS.” 
P. 67. 


MAN. 


Patiial Sketches of our Earth-Tfome. 


Sections.—I. Apostrophe—Imagination and Passion at liberty; 
II. Divine Invocation; III. Brotherly Gratulation; IV. Proposition 
of the Subject; V. The Harth, as seen from the Sun; VI. Expanding— 
in slow return; VII. From the Cliff below the Clouds; VIII. Ocean 
View; IX. Land View; X. Horizon Mountains; XI. Nearer Moun- 
tain View; XII. The Valley; XIII. Contrast to the Sea; XIV. 
Special Localities; XV. Down the River; XVI. Summary of Earth- 


Home. 


MAN. 


PARTIAL SKETCHES OF OUR EARTH-HOME. 


I. APOSTROPHE. 


Now, panting spirit! now thy bold desire 
So long, so fondly cherish’d, finds an hour 
To seek its lofty object! 

Morn and eve, 
Noonday and midnight, year succeeding year, 
Imagination—like a prison’d bird, 
Born in its prison, one whose fluttering wings 
Were ne’er full spread, but long to wave in heaven— 
Has pruned her pinions for a daring flight; 
And Passion—as the mate of that caged bird 
Thrills when she hears her partner’s melody— 
Has heard and burned with rapture while she sung 
Her flight, as if already on the wing! 
The hour has come! The prunéd plume is free! 
To hill and vale, to brook and ocean wide, 
From pole to pole—Imagination flies ; 
And far from earth, among the shining orbs 
Like golden isles that throng the sea of space; 
And downward, where the wilderness of gloom 
Surrounds the darkling lake of quenchless fire; 
And upward, where the Eternal’s throne is seen 
Casting its radiance o’er the towers of heaven ; 


6 


62 


And higher still, where twinkling light of star, 
Pale beam of moon, or sun’s intenser ray, 

Or flickering glare of hell, or far-seen blaze 

Of heavenly glory never hath appear’d; 

But where effulgence uncreated shrines 

The Form or Gop !—effulgence that hath yet 
Ne’er known a shade, nor been approach’d by else 
Than holy thought, adoring as it gazed! 

H’en there, with wings dispread and motionless 
In God’s dread solitude she floats in awe. 

And ever as she flies—or round the earth, 

Or midst the distant spheres, or by the gates 

Of hell or heaven, or in the light that shrines 
The form of God; still Passion—as its mate 
Follows with ardent wing the flying bird— 
Length, breadth, depth, height, with equal speed explores. 
Yet wherefore as the birds? Their aim so high, 
Their end so great, they rather angels seem, 
Cherub and seraph, gathering gems of truth 
From all the worlds to deck their diadems! 
Nay—truth more precious far than rarest gems 
And brightest crowns that e’en archangels wear! 


II. DIVINE INVOCATION. 


“Light in thy light,” my new-born vision sees, 
Love for thy love my new-born heart returns, 
And now, Creator of the Universe! 

Infinite Spirit! who, ere aught was made, 
Delighted in the countless images 

Of good and beauty, moving in Thy mind ;— 
Whose wisdom plann’d the frame of all that is, 
Whose voice of power embodied all the plan, 
And whose continual energy sustains 


63 


Matter, and life, and spirit; hour by hour; 

To thee, with joy ineffable I call, 

To thee, my Mather! Not to olden muse, 

Of heathen fame, nor mystic modern sprite, 

My truth-taught soul avows its warm desire; 

But, in Thy hearing ear—Ancient of days! 

Its breathings enter. Humble as a child, 

Whose heart the glow of pride and cheek its flush, 
Have never known; yet as an angel bold— 

An angel that hath never breathed a prayer 

That was denied a moment—thus would I, 
Humbly and boldly claim Thy constant aid! 
Father! inspire Thy child! my mind illume 

With truth as bright as sunbeams that have known 
Nor cloud, nor shade; to cross their way to earth; 
With truth as vital to the immortal soul 

As sunlight to the world that basks and lives. 

My heart with strong attachment to the truth,— 
Stronger than that of avarice to gold, 

Or vanity to fame, or eye of youth 

To most enchanting beauty, ever bless; 

And grant me language flowing as the fount, 

Each thought and feeling imaging as well, 

As the smooth brook, the flowers upon its marge; 
And still may words and thoughts, like mecting brooks, 
In one full stream uniting, onward lead 

Attention to eternity, as bears 

Its bark, the river to the wide—wide sea! 


III. BROTHERLY GRATULATION. 


Joy to the world! the harp! the gift of God! 
Whose sacred strings, obedient to the touch 
Of skilful fingers, thrilling as they move, 


64 


Their many tones in mingled music wake: 

Of power to lull to languor strength enraged, 
O’ercome with melting sweetness; and to nerve 
With iron hardness arms as soft as babe’s; 
And o’er the timid hearts of cowards glide, 
Like winds o’er smother’d fires, and rouse a flame 
Of courage, many waters cannot whelm; 

Nay more, whose chasten’d harmony may win 
Affection from the earth, as though she heard 
Soft from the regions whither tends her flight, 
The gentle voice of some kind messenger: 
Ay—holier purpose yet may well fulfil, 

When tenderly it seeks the bed of death, 

And o’er the heart-strings of the dying steals, 
Like fragrant airs from paradise, and prompts 
The parting soul to sigh a glad farewell ! 

Joy to the world! this precious gift of God 

Is rescued from the unhallow’d touch of sin, 
And gives unto a nation’s listening ear, 

The tones of truth;—in mellow cadence telling 
Of life and bliss immortal in the gkies, 
Wooing the fainting soul to love her God; 

The tones of truth,—in peals of thunder rolling, 
Startling the sinner from his dream of joy, 
And calling to the worm that slept an hour 

Its agonizing gnawings to renew, 

And making fancy reel as though she heard 
Groans of the lost, and saw the fire of hell, 
And millions beck’ning to their fearful home! 
Joy to the world! that while the Spirit’s voice 
In the still heart makes audible appeals; 

While Providence from earth and sea and sky, 
In blossom-time and harvest; in dark storm 


65 


And sunny calm; at morning, noon, and eve; 
By weal and wo, by health and wan disease, 

By life and death, the will of God declares; 
While Revelation—faithful sentinel! 

He who hath watch’d our planet, from what time 
Immortals shouted, as it slowly came, 

Swelling and bright’ning, grand and beautiful, 
From gloom to glory—all his lore repeats, 

With warning and entreaty pleading still; 

And while the Anointed Host unfurl at once 
Ten thousand purple banners, and uplift 

To countless thousands loud the rallying ery; 
Joy to the world! that while all these are out, 
And the world can but hear—the holy harp 

In many a quiet interval obtains 

The open ear of leisure, and with charms 

That few may scorn, persuades the yielding heart 
To desecrate its idols, and entwine 

The tendrils of its love around the cross! 


IV. PROPOSITION OF THE SUBJECT. 


MAN AS HE IS, and AS HE MAY BECOME; 

His Knowledge—Duty— Conduct— Destiny— 

His Degradation and his Dignity ; 

With all the good and evil Agencies, 

Seen and unseen, with force, or slight, or strong, 

Soliciting his will:— These are my Themes. 

And if the power but equal the desire, 

Truth, by the suasive spell of song, shall win 

A conquest o’er the soul that fame may tell 

To many a holy circle in the skies; 

Who, while their hearts would shudder at the tale 

Of triumphs bought with blood, shall gladly hear, 
6% 


66 


All leaning mutely on their harps of gold, 
Of contrite spirits turning to their God! 


V. THE EARTH—AS SEEN FROM THE SUN. 


Mysterious Thought! who, ere old Time can turn 
His hour-glass, sweepest round the universe; 
Stand on the central pinnacle of light, 

And mark the spheres that roll around the sun! 
Thou see’st no fairer in his whole domain, 

Than where upon its azure circle moves, 
Moon-like, the distant dwelling-place of man: 
Moon-like—as in our morning gleams the moon, 
A globe of silver in a haze of gold; 
Moon-like—and with the lesser moon beside, 

A pearl-hued pendant, quivering in the glow; 
The polish’d threshold at the door of earth, 
Where many an angel folds his wings and rests; 
Moon-like—with map-like shadows, plain to thee, 
The lands and waters of thy native home! 


VI. EXPANDING—IN SLOW RETURN. 


Now, slow return. With whata rushing roll, 
Our planet spins and bowls along its course! 
And yet its swiftest motions greet thy glance, 
Without confusion. See how grandly swell 

Its vast proportions! See its boundless drift 

Of arching clouds, with rings of open space 
Through which the summits of its mountains rise 
Ice-sheath’d and clear as crystal, casting wide 
Prismatic hues o’er all the shining waste ; 

Or down whose vistas, where no heights ascend, 
Dark plains, and darker vales, with darkest woods, 


67 


Repel the sight; while lakes and seas reflect 
Myriads of splendors shot between the glooms; 
Like shafts of fire, soon quench’d among the hills; 
Like shields of glory, floating from the coasts. 


VII. FROM THE CLIFF BELOW THE CLOUDS. 


Draw nearer still: and, as an eagle wild 

That solitary shone above the clouds— 

Lord of two worlds, in either at his will— 

Stoop from the sunshine ever resting there, 

And come beneath their shadow; fold thy plumes 
Beside the eagle’s eyry, where the cliff, 

Nature’s selectest terrace, holds command 

Of sea, and earth, and sky; and thence behold, 
Above, around, below—the outstretch’d world! 


VIII. OCEAN VIEW. 


Lo! where the ample Ocean fills its sphere! 

See the white space along the horizon— 

That seeming outlet to infinity, 

Between the cloud-line and the ceaseless waves. 
See how the lone ship, darkling up from dark, 
Leans lingering there, dwindles, and disappears: 
Leaving the long light clear and cold again. 
Trace back the circle to these reefs below; 
Where the great quivering billows, leaden-glazed, 
Smooth their thin-curling crests to lucent green, 
And break in seething foam and sprinkled spray. 
See how, continuous as that snow-white foam, 
And countless as the snow-white sea-birds there, 
Hover on all the coast the snow-white sails— 
With painted flags aloft, and painted sides 


70 


Like pencillings on one surface, plains expand, 
As broad as these, as fruitful, and as fair. 


XI. NEARER MOUNTAIN VIEW. 


But, mark yon nearest slope, across the vale, 
How smoothly it ascends! How beautiful, 

The ceaseless lights and shades that over-sweep 
The swaying fulness of its forest-tops! 

No trunk is seen, no branch; an emerald world, 
Whole as the ocean, waves upon the sight— 
Save where some cast-away has clear’d a knoll, 
Isle-like, and in his smoking cabin rests, 

The Crusoe of the wilderness; or where 

Turns and returns the turnpike’s whitening way ; 
Or down that growthless gorge the crumbled rocks, 
Like a gray glacier, slowly swell their course. 


XII. THE VALLEY. 


With calmly conscious eyes, descending still 
From those great boundaries, now dilate with joy 
On all the laughing loveliness below. 

Behold the varied valley! Nature there 

Is fashion’d into beauty. All its forms 

Are gentler, and its checker’d colors shine 

In gayer contrasts. On the light green hills, 

A thousand purple orchards flush the air; 

Along the endless reach of open fields, 

A thousand yellow harvests greet the sun; 

And down the banks, where moist the meadows lie, 
A thousand dark green pastures bless the wave. 
O’er all the scene, in happy neighborhood, 
Known by dissolving rings of rising smoke, 

Or, whitely gleaming from their bowery shades, 


(a 


A thousand homesteads haunt a thousand springs. 
The springs, outrilling from their shelter’d caves, 
And sparkling through the elder-thickets, haste 
To meet the brooks that from the mountains call: 
The glistening brooks, down-leaping from the crags, 
Between the lowly willows wind, to join 

The creeks, o’erarched by lofty sycamores : 

The creeks, along the hollows, check their course, 
Smooth all their ripples till they look like glass, 
And so, in silence, with the river blend: 

The river, with the treasure of all hearts 
Intrusted, shines in sight of earth and heaven, 
And bears the common tribute to the sea. 


XIII. CONTRAST TO THE SEA. 


How different from the sea! No billows roll, 
No breakers roar, within this scope serene. 

No plunging prows, no shivering sails, are here. 
The quiet soil sleeps on from age to age, 

And all its structures stand in still repose; 
More sure than anchorage, mooring, or the dock. 
The surface there is blank, life dreads the air, 
And holds its hidden revels in the deep. 

Here, depth is death, and all of life ascends, 
Hxulting in the breezes and the light— 

The heaven of resurrection from the grave, 
Where every tree its branch of triumph waves. 


XIV. SPECIAL LOCALITIES. 


See, where the level tree-roof’d avenue 
Welcomes the homeward carriage, spinning swift. 
See, where the sunny pike, that climbs the hill, 
Shows, here and there, along its rising grade, 


72 


The heavy-loaded, slowly-wending wain. 

See the log school-house, with its gravelly green 
Well trampled, on the border of the wood. 

See the white church, within its sacred grove, 
Surrounded by the unforgotten tombs, 
Reposing like a shepherd with his flock. 

See the neat parsonage, fronting from its group 
Of oaks and elms, where hands of genial taste, 
Take due advantage of all natural wealth, 

And wake a cultured Hden in the wild, 

To breathe refinement o’er the ruder world. 
There fairer branches fresher foliage wave, 
There richer lawns, and cleaner walks appear, 
There flowers, more varied, sweeter odors yield, 
And vines, more fitly trail’d, more brightly bloom. 
The bees are busier there, as better paid; 

And birds, as more at home, more musical. 
About the porch and windows such delights 

Of color, fragrance, song, combine with scenes 
Far-reaching, to complete the bliss within, 

That the young parents less of heaven might think 
And less of duty than the Lord requires, 

But that an infant face, with seraph smile, 

Oft peeps between the roses—and is not. 


XV. DOWN THE RIVER. 


Now, one sweep more. Across the mountain-brook, 
The prostrate tree—from whose smooth barkless round, 
Sun-warm’d, the startled snake, uncoiling, drops— 
Yields trusty passage. Down the radiant glen, 
Opening upon the splendor of the West, 

The one-arch’d bridge uplifts its lighted curve, 

And wings of silver, like an angel guide’s, 


73 


Leading a pilgrim ’neath the gate of death, 
Conduct the timid waters glittering through. 

Still onward—where the river spreads its flood, 
And the brown country-road winds down the bank, 
The flat-boat, poled against the current, aims, 
With prudence often praised, above its mark; 
Then, down the side-stream gliding, gains its rest. 
Still onward—and the cover’d toll-bridge creeps, 
Creaking, from pier to pier, from shore to shore, 
Where the grass-grown and quiet village streets 
Disclose their comely lines of airy homes; 

Each with its well-kept garden in the rear, 

And front adorn’d with poplar spires, or droop 
Of willowy swings, or locusts’ feathery leaf. 

Still onward sweeping—as the tide expands— 

By many an ampler town and busier marge, 
With steam-wheels plashing and alive with sails, 
Lo! where another vale unites its flood, 

With equal tribute from an equal range. 

There breaks the mighty city on the sight! 

The skies are all ablaze with sunset fires, 

And all aglow the hills, and vales, and tides, 

And widening bay, and ocean’s basking sphere. 
How fair the vision! Countless homes around, 
With all the world connected, and the signs 
Suggestive everywhere. Inland—the stage 
Comes dusting down the road; the humble barge 
Bears a bright window on the slow canal; 

The rail-car rolls its glazing through the glare; 
And e’en the brazen points that lead the wire 
Electric, catch and show the slower beam. 
Seaward—the steam-ships trail their clouds of smoke, 
And clouds of sails, out-bound and in-bound, wave 


7 


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| 74 

Like wings of glory o’er the illumined deep. 

But, chief, the central haze, suspended low, 

Reflective reddens; and a hundred fanes 

Flash, star-like, through; a hundred polish’d domes 

Swell up, like suns; temples and mansions shine, 

As though a conflagration raged within ; 

And monumental shafts, of holy fame, 

Lift their pale statues to the living tints, 

Transfigured, as spectators of the scene. 


XVI. SUMMARY OF EARTH-HOME. 


Ocean immense, mountain and varied vale, 

Thou hast survey’d. Now raise thine eyes again 
To th’ open skies, whence late thy coming shone; 
And—while the holy, golden-crownéd sun, 

In robes “of glory and of beauty,” stands 

By the evening altar, stretching radiant arms; 
His many-jewel’d breast-plate all ablaze ; 

His countenance shining like the face of God; 
And, as the priest of nature, in God’s name 
Baptizes all the world with living fire: 

Or, turning with the truth that charms thee most 
Even from such an image, too restrain’d 

For nature’s vastness—while the distant sun, 
With moon-like nearness but incomparate flame, 
Still sinking slow, suffuses all the sphere; 
Transforming air, and mist, and sea, and shore, 
Into one larger, fairer Paradise, 

With all love’s angels floating in the light— 
Tell me if man hath not a Glorious Home? 

And when the time of thought to sense succeeds; 
When twilight from the scene below exhales, 
And the gloom rises, till the glittering peak, 


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“AND MONUMENTAL SHAFTS OF HOLY FAME 
LIFT THEIR PALE STATUES TO THE LIVING TINTS, 
TRANSFIGURED, AS SPECTATORS OF THE SCENE.” 
P.¥A. 


LIBRARY 
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Whereon thou glowest, loses its last ray ; 

And ey’n the highest vapors change from gold 
To crimson, and to purple, and to blue, 

And so, chill’d hueless, overfloat unseen ; 

As the hush’d homestead glimmers from its bower, 
And the calm village shows a cluster’d gleam, 
And the still town extends its sparkling line, 
And the tired city winks with myriad lamps, 
And the bay-beacon flashes toward the sea, 
And the strange meteor, trailing through the dusk, 
Startles all revery with its sudden hiss— 

Tell me, if Man hath not a Quiet Home? 

And when the time of rest to thought succeeds, 
When all these lights are ouwt—except the blaze 
That o’er the unsteady billows steadily beams, 
To guide the anxious mariner; when sleep, 
Welcome, on earth, to flesh and spirit both, 
Falls, like the dew, on all the languid world; 
Then lift thy vision to the gentle stars, 

Whose light is everlasting—though they seem 
The glistening dew-drops of some upper morn, 
Red with a sunrise never reaching here; 

Or, if it please thee, let them sentinels seem, 
Pacing our wilderness frontiers all the night, 
With angel vigilance; and then, behold 

The queenly moon, that leaves the camp afar, 
And ey’n without a page, draws near alone, 

To watch in silence o’er the slumberers; 

Or rather, while both heaven and earth are full 
Of death-like stillness, with no dream of war— 
Tell me, if Man hath not a Peaceful Home? 
And when the time of action follows rest; 
When the first scintillant arrows of the dawn, 


76 


Kindling the east, foreshow returning day; 
When, midst the violet-hues, the morning star 
Heightens its diamond brightness—like the eye 
Of beauty, blushing at a well-known step; 

And when the sun, up-looming from the sea, 
With rim of dazzling white, and centre black 
With blinding glory, lifts its lower verge 

From seeming touch, and instantly retires, 
Without a tremor, to infinity— 

Thence earthward shining still, while clouds of mist 
From wave and cliff, from inland hill and stream, 
Rise, like a lifted firmament, and show 

From pole to pole the waking world beneath— 

O let the happy billows clap their hands, 

And the gales shout along the echoing rocks, 

And hills, and plains, and streams, uplift their songs 
To the stillest heights of rapture, where the peaks 
Of the purest mountains, passing through the veil 
And pale with worship, only whisper praise— 
And all confess, with grateful thrills divine, 

A race of gods might love the Home of Man. 


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“ROUND THE GATE,— 
SAD CONTRAST TO THE BEAUTY OF THE PLACE,— 
BARE-HEADED AND BARE-FOOTED CHILDREN PLAY’D, 
WITH UNCOMB’D HAIR, AND FACES THAT APPEAR’D 


AS THOUGH THEY HAD TO WAIT FOR RAIN TO WASH.” 
PeSie 
‘ 


MAY IN THE WOODS. 


An Epistle to my Eriend, 


JOHN FONERDEN, M. D. 


OF BALTIMORE. 


MAY IN THE WOODS. 


Once more I breathe the warm mid-city air; 
Retired and quiet, musing at my desk. 

But, while the sunlight through the window beams, 
Part shaded by the half-roll’d blinds; and flies 
Dress their thin wings upon the brighten’d floor; 
And plays the shadow of the waving tape, 

That ties the curtain, witnessing the wind; 

And frequent glooms, descending from the clouds 
In silent promise floating, briefly dim 

The little scene so pictured at my feet ;— 

Fancy, with open bosom, walks the woods ; 
Communing with all spirits that inhaunt 

Their green and cool and musical retreats. 


To thee, my Friend! while thus a leisure hour 
Opens with pleasant thoughts, I pour my verse 
Freely and gladly. Haply simple things 

Will flow through all the song; not now inspired 
With such intent as often spheres the soul 

In highest glory; but, in frame serene, 


Sung with sweet love of beauty and repose. 


A week ago, last Saturday, I rode 

A woodland track upon the Eastern Shore. 
No hurry urged me onward; low the reins 
Hung, loose; and inoffensively the whip; 


8) 


While, perfectly contented, slowly walk’d 
My fine gray pony, with her flowing mane, 
In rich adornment of her archéd neck, 

All smoothly drooping; and her sidelong eye 
Enchanted by the verdant border grass. 


It was a close and cloudy afternoon, 

And all the leaves on all the branches hung, 
As though with very faintness they would fall; 
And every tree appear’d to bow its head 

In utmost awe; and all the forest join’d 

In mute, imploring homage for a shower. 

But onward pass’d the providential rain 

To answer greater need. And soon the grove, 
Refresh’d by leafy draughts unseen but full, 
Drawn from the moisten’d air; and briskly stirr’d 
By their old partners in delight, the winds, 
Shook every limb and rustled every twig, 
Thankful that while their wishes were denied 
Their wants were granted; casting grief away 
And waving wide with universal joy. 


Near to the road-side, little yellow cups 
Sprinkled the humid verdure; and, beyond, 
Tall, branchless stalks of cluster’d blue-bells rose, 
Showing the hue of heaven, and pointing there; 
While, blending rose and lily, all around 

Wild honey-suckles flush’d the ground with bloom; 
And over these, half-reaching to the height 

Of venerable, all-protecting oaks, 

The taper dogwood’s fragrant blossoms spread ; 
Cheering the green obscure with pyramids 

Of snowy beauty; loveliest when the sun 


81 


Broke from the clouds, and through the open roof, 
High waving and transparent, quivering sent, 
Pure as the spotless flowers, his golden rays. 


On as I passed, a few attractions charm’d 
My ready senses, and excited thoughts 
That one who loves me may not scorn to hear. 


An oak—tall, straight, and ample in its girth; 
Firm-fix’d below and spreading wide above; 
Sound, strong, and flourishing. It might be named, 
Methuselah! the forest patriarch. 

There must have been a long, long lapse of years 
Since that was but an acorn. In the homes 

That now its top o’erlooks, the grave has found— 
Oh! many a victim, since its little germ 

Peep’d from the soil. Alas! how short is life! 
How many generations of mankind, 

Full of vast schemes and boasting boundless hopes, 
May live to second childhood and expire 

Beneath the shadow of the same old tree; 

Old, but still green! And that,—how steadfast stood, 
The sylvan chieftain! what a robe of pomp 

In breezy fulness floated round his form! 

But hold!—I draw a contrast; may not thus, 

To gain the pleasure of a sounding verse, 
Personify as man the very power 

That mock’d the fleetness of my flowery term, 
And, as I rode beside its mighty trunk, 

Shook all its honors proudly o’er my head. 

And yet that tree too near resembled man. 

A princely prize had met with cold regard, 

If only to be gain’d by clasping tight 


82 


Its pillar’d strength, or climbing to its boughs. 
For, closely creeping, like a deadly snake, 
Through every crevice, under every plate 

Of swelling bark, and showing, here and there, 
Its brown and hairy line, the poison-oak 
Ascended—striking terror to my heart! 
Terror,—for years ago, on that same shore, 

I suffer’d strange eruption and was told: 
‘‘Perhaps some poison-oak was on the fire, 
And as it burnt, you smelt it.” Poison-oak ! 
Never to be forgotten! When I read, 

Beside the winter stand, let no dread log 

With this sad vine be placed upon the fire: 
Nay, sooner let the hearth grow cold as rocks 
That brunt the icy surge of polar seas. 

And when I ride, let no contiguous tree 
Extend an arm to help the creeper reach 

My passing form; thus prompting me to push 
The limb aside, and feel, too late, my foe. 
Rather, far rather, let my charger course 

The shrubless sands, beneath the cloudless sun, 
Straining endurance every burning step. 

Yes, there I lay,—but ’tis too long a tale: 
EHnough—enough! but never, never more 

Let poison-oak my shuddering frame molest. 
But now recurs the question, for reply: 

In what respect does this resemble man? 

Your thoughts, my Friend! may not accord with mine, 
But so, it seem’d, we sometimes meet with men, 
In whom we note an excellence of gifts, 
Sublime and peerless; who, although their minds 
Command admiring love, must yet be shunn’d: 
Because of some acquired, vile, viper vice— 
Some venomous habit winding round the heart. 


83 


Birds!—Many were about me; but a page 
Would fail to show them, fully. Let a touch, 
Of some distinctive point, suffice for each. 

The red-bird, like a British fifer, blew 

His solid whistle. Sharp o’erhead was heard, 
The crow-tormenting king-bird’s victor note; 
And one sweet oriole amused me much, 

Glad singing on the topmost twig, but still, 

As near I drew, removing further on; 

Yet ever, with his pinions closed or spread, 
Warbling his strain; as though he sought to say :— 
‘“‘T am a poet, sir! and, let me rest 

Or keep me flying, long as life shall last 

My glowing soul shall pour its joys in song.” 
While thus the nearer, oft, from distant gloom, 
Melodiously the plaintive turtle-dove, 

Her saddest music breathed; the charméd soul 
A moment stopt the heart, and stood to hear. 


But others, songless, wanting voice or rest, 

Were busy all about me. Fitted light 

From spray to spray, the blue-bird; near the ground, 
From bush to bush, the speckle-breasted thrush, 
With knowing eye that watch’d the passenger, 

Hopt, quietly; and quick the prudent wren, 

Along the lowest fence-rail, ran, and hid 

Beneath the angle’s shelter, in the grass. 

While, pleasing me as much as any, swift, 

With crimson head, blue back, and white-striped wings, 
From tree to tree the wise wood-pecker flew. 
Tri-colour’d bird,—its image should appear, 

O France! with each of thy tri-colour’d flags! 

The bird that loves above all else on earth 


84 


To pick at rotten, blockhead royalties. 

I like to mark it, running round and round, 

The crumbling column, and then, holding fast, 

With most tenacious claws, lean boldly back 

And send its rapid piercer rattling home, 

*Tis a loud warning to all trees; enough 

To make them tremble from their lowest roots 

Up to their highest boughs; for thus must all 

Decay, and feed the worms—and these, the birds. 
If here, my Friend! you see another thought 

‘That fits great things, apply it so, yourself; 

I play awhile with poetry—not thrones. 


But, ere we leave the birds, one more remark 
May not be useless. Men are like them here: 
The silent are the busy. They who work 
Have little time to pain or please the world, 
With dove-like moans or oriolean songs. 


But let me not forget a little nest— 

A lonely nest, adhering to a branch 

That the wind waved beside me as I pass’d, 

As though to say :—‘‘ Behold! a happy home!” 
What! that? ’Tis true; the trifle is a home. 
How small its room! and that without a roof! 
Except, indeed, the ever-changing leaves. 

Mark its foundation! neither rock nor sand ; 
Falling and rising, constantly, yet safe. 

Sweeps the wild blast that brings the awful storm; 
Pours the full torrent from the melting clouds; 
Flies the fierce lightning quivering through the sky; 
And peals the thunder, rolling deep and long. 

Yet swings that nest upon the tossing branch; 


85 


Wet with the rain-drops, glistening in the flash, 
And trembling to the thunder; all exposed 

But all unhurt; still—still a happy home. 

Oh! give me love, and let me be a bird, 

My home a nest, and every wind my foe; 

Rather than own the noblest hall that man 

Has ever built, to walk its joyless courts 

With drooping head, and heart that fondly seeks 
Affection’s sympathy—but seeks in vain. 

Softly! a whisper seeks my spirit’s ear! 
‘‘Beware of error. Mind! you saw no birds 
Nestling together; no tremendous storm. 

Haply the mates do never hold at once, 

The downy seat; but interchange their tasks 
While eggs or young are there, and then forsake 
Both and forever what they need no more.” 

Jt may be so—I know not. Where’s the man, 
Of all the wise on earth—come! tell his name! 
Whose knowledge circles all things? There is none 
Then here I leave the point—and if I err, 

Oh! many a poet, writing wondrous verse 

Of what he never knew—has done the same. 


But other things—what other things were there? 

I sketch a few. For instance, o’er my head 

A kind of fly, about an inch in length; 

Light-hued and slender-bodied; all erect 

Its head and tail; and from its hollow sides 

Its filmy wings projecting; sail’d along, 

So gaily on the gentle tide of air, 

With such a humming, as of tiny wheels, 

I could but gaze and name it as it went 

A little, living steamboat! True, the thought 
8 


86 


Was not a wise one; but alas! how apt 

The human mind to cherish foolish things! 

And J had rather lift my head and smile 

To think a buzzing insect, as it flies, 

A little, living steamboat—than pronounce 

A prince or priest, my master! For the first _ 
No evil wrought; but ah! what mountain piles 
Of bleeding bodies, ever echoing loud 

From base to top with wounded spirits’ groans— 
The sad memorials of the other’s reign— 
Oppress the earth, and in the eye of heaven 
Rise high, invoking pity or revenge! 

Thus then it seem’d that I had noticed all 

The wilderness contain’d. But what a thought! 
How prone is man to glance along the woods 

Of knowledge, and, because a trifling part 
Rewards the eye, suppose the whole is known: 
As though the distant darkness were a wall— 
And not a vast, expanding, crowded world: 
While oft, beneath his feet, things undiscern’d 
Exist as though they were not. So with me; 
For, crossing soon a narrow bridge of logs,— 
On either side of which still waters lay, 

Dark with the dye of countless sunken leaves, 
And spotted here and there with spreading dock,— 
‘‘Humph!” said a bull-frog, plunging to the depths ; 
As though he knew, but made mistake in me, 

A word to certain people is enough. 

Still this, at least, he made me understand: 
Some things are not content to be o’erlook’d. 

Pll mark you, sir! thought I; and man shall learn— 
That man I mean who pants to leave a name 


87 


To after times, and scarcely cares for what,— 
A homely lesson that may do him good. 

Up from oblivion’s gloom some time he mounts, 
And silent squats upon the shore of life; 

, Then, as the world goes by, if nothing more 
His utmost swelling can accomplish,—humph! 
He cries, and sinks, unseen, whence first he rose. 
Or if he compass more—aye, win a crown; 
Still, to my mind, if this his highest aim, 

Such greater glories meanly he neglects, 
That e’en the bloated bull-frog’s hollow trump 
Deserves more honour than his worthless name. 


What more? I fear this trespass. Waving webs 
Awaited victims. Hence the passing line: 
Earth’s fairest scenes are full of fatal traps. 


Again;—a human home. A hut of logs, 

In a square garden lot; about whose fence 

The forest waves, with north and west relieved 
By long, close rows of that same odorous tree, 
The snowy-blossom’d dogwood. Round the gate— 
Sad contrast to the beauty of the place— 
Bare-headed and bare-footed children play’d, 
With uncomb’d hair and faces that appear’d 

As though they had to wait for rain to wash: 
While in the door, a haggard woman sat. 

Could she have been their mother? Very strange, 
She never found a fountain in the shade. 

Still on; and paths that led to other homes 
Open’d at times, on either hand; and these 
Always afford me pleasure. Wanting facts, 

I fancy they conduct to neat abodes 


88 


Of peace and love. How happy is the man— 
So breathes my soul as up the path I look— 
When here he turns aside his weary feet, 

And knows he soon shall join the smiling group 
That make his bower a blessed paradise! 


And more? Yes, more—but most must be withheld. 
Who tells at once the full amount he knows? 

And who that aught declares, will not the best? 
‘‘But not a word is here of many things 

That throng the woods!” I know—but did not meet, 
And what I met not would infringe the plan 

That gives the garrulous mind its only check. 
Beside, what eye, since Adam’s, ever saw 

That richest spot where nature kindly show’d 

A full museum of her countless charms? 

If fancy’s hand, my Friend! had held the pen, 
Squirrels with long and bushy tails, had run 

Along the ground, and, mounting to the forks 

Of hickories, had closely laid and watch’d 

The man below, with slanting black-bead eyes. 
Buzzards had floated on unmoving plumes 

Where’er the sky was seen, so loftily, 

So easily and gracefully, that men 

Had scorn’d balloons and sigh’d for wings alone; 
And thousand, thousand things from heaven, earth, sea, 
Art’s pride and Nature’s beauty, had combined 

To crowd a scene,—with no original. 


Yet, ere I close, two observations more 

Request a record. Ample sections there 

Were thickly strewn with leaves—the last year’s growth. 
Tis an old song that leaves illustrate life ; 


89 


Fresh, fading, falling. Homer may have learn’d 
This wisdom on his gentle mother’s knee. 

But, a new point—unburied leaves; the dry 
And wasting skeletons that seem to warn 

The living verdure, waving on the boughs 
Above them, where they flourish’d once themselves. 
I thought—suppose the bones of perish’d men, 
Were ever thus in sight; stopping our ways, 
And filling all our fields; demanding toil 

Severe and long, to clear a little spot 

To raise our corn, or channel out a line 

To lead the fountain waters to our doors; 
Where then would be that heedlessness of death 
Which marks the myriads who delight to dance, 
Now, on the flowery floor that hides the grave? 
Where then the gorgeous glories that command 
The sinful homage of a haughty world? 

Where then the madness that exchanges heaven 
With all its everlasting realms of light, 

For meteor fires that flash around the tomb, 
And when the wanderer reaches it,—expire! 


And now the last. Just as we left the woods, 
And coursed the open road, with piny skirts, 
Westward I turn’d my eye. Long, narrow clouds 
Of shadowy blue, with golden space between, 
Stretch’d, line o’er line, across the sunset sky. 
The scene was that which people oft describe 
Thus :-—“ Now the sun is drawing water up.” 
To me it seem’d, as though, behind the clouds, 
A pyramid, magnificent above 
All former thoughts of splendour, reach’d mid-heaven ; 
Most massive, and most perfect in its shape, 

Qx 


90 


Effulgent, grand, beyond all pomp of words. 
Thus, then, as set unseen the solar orb, 

The envious clouds, that would have hid his light, 
Became the very scaffolding within 

Whose vast enclosure, gloriously was built 

His monument, to charm the wondering world! 


So let the Christian triumph o’er his foes; 
Without a shade approaching other spheres, 
And envy’s self approving him in this. 


THE DUEL. 


GRAVES AND CILLEY. 


FEBRUARY 24, 1838. 


Sections.—I. First News; II. Later News; III. Public Excite- 
ment; IV. Demand for Repentance and Restraint. 


Oe Ee Big Oe Ue Eee ae 


I. FIRST NEWS. 


The passion of the people, brooks no more! 
The judgment of the people, yields no more! 
The voice that speaks their spirit, sleeps no more! 


Passion is rising, like a midnight storm! 
Judgment is streaming, like the lightning, down! 
And speech, like thunder, shakes the throne of guilt! 


The poet’s faculties are white with fire— 
Calm—Oh, how calm!—consumingly intense! 


Vox Populi— Vox Dei! Once—all hail! 

The Nation trembles at the mountain’s base: 
And while the summit shadows deepen round, 
Hears the high Law and swears to own its power! 


Thou shalt not kill!—the God of Glory speaks: 
Thou shalt not kill!—the Nation makes reply: 
Replies, awe-struck, and groaning in the dust! 


Hark! See! The Eagle, wounded in mid-sky, 
Falls, shrieking, with an eye that loathes the light: 
And bleeds upon thy dome—proud Capitol! 


94 


Old Pandemonium gathers all her hosts: 
The very flames stand motionless, without; 
Within, suspense and silence. 

Lo! they start! 
’Twas but a sound. Again! and yet no more. 
Again! a double sound—a wail of wo! 
Wo to the earth: in hell—a festival! 
A triumph! Ha! the flames are dancing round! 
The walls, the roof—they quiver to that shout! 


A Gentleman! who thus insults the race? 
A Man!—and yet athirst for human blood? 
A Gentle Man?—O scorn and mockery! 


* I say of one whose conduct I despise : 
In my opinion—he’s no gentleman. 


What now? A challenge? Why? In error? Then 
Correct me; and I’ll thank you, and confess. 
But if, fool-like, my prejudice is dear, 

Who shall presume such failing to control? 

O gentle sir! be piteous to a fool! 

Tf, still more fool-like, every where I tell 

With pert assurance what should be my shame: 
Remember—e’en the fool has right of speech: 
And men of sense had better thrust their hands 
In living coals, than lay them on his lips. 

Do let the fool prate on—till none shall hear. 
—But many, hearing, cherish same regards !— 
Then challenge all!-—Or, cheerly, care no more 
For twenty thousand simpletons, than one. 

But, haply—I am right. Then, truth is good, 
And life is good: pray let me keep them both! 


95 


Or, if this may not be—fire thou alone: 
Better to lose my body than my soul! 


Thus mere opinion. If a libel out: 

Seek due redress in Court. Let Justice tear 
The false reproach from thee, and on his brow 
Cool the sore seal of bone-imprinting crime! 


O for unceasing tears! undying moans! 


Sharp ring the rifles in the clear, cold air: 
But unseen angels turn the tubes aside. 
See! Oh how rich, in more than worlds could buy— - 
In life, health, strength, they stand erect, unharm’d! 
Has each a home? I know not, want a fact: 

But yield to fancy, and still pour my verse. 

Smile, Mothers! while the glory of the noon 

Glows round you, in your widely parted spheres. 
Your little ones are sporting; from the walls, 

The portraits of their fathers look with love: 

Smile, Mothers! kiss the little ones again, 

Point to their sires, and fan their fondest hopes! 


Again? O horror! But the angels wait: 
Ordain’d to guide once more the glancing balls. 
Say, Mothers! did a shadow dim your joys? 
Smile on—the sun seems brighter for the gloom! 


A pause. A gentleman? I still think not. 
You thus esteem him—TI am glad you can. 

Is he, in fact ?—I cannot make him else. 
Freedom of thought is yours—to me belongs 
The same great right. We differ. I regret. 


96 


But ask me not to lie. This could not prove 
His honor: would dishonor you to seek: 
And stamp me worse than coward should I give. 


All may not answer—either /ie or die! 


No more the wings of mercy guard the scene: 
Shapes dark and dread draw near, with evil eye— 
Help the sure aim—and hail the fatal fall! 


What now? A Gentleman? No more than erst. 
Yet this the only end—to make the dead 
Assent to him that slew him. 

Howl it forth— 
The speechless disappointment! 

Ha! the soul 
That might have seen its error—if at fault; 
Now, all unchanged, is banish’d from the world! 
The lips that might have utter’d all desired, 
Are voiceless, till the searching day of doom! 


In purple robe, new-dyed, he comes! he comes! 
Ho! haughty Honor! Autocrat adored! 

Art satisfied? Thy object—was it won? 

A gentleman—because the corpse is mute? 

Out on the silent dead! The lifeless tongue 
Declines to say—he is a gentleman ! 

This way, O king! Fresh cause for vengeance here! 
Reload! Approach the tomb! Demand consent! 
Call out the pale one! Challenge him again! 

What! Will not hear? Then nobly make thy charge, 
Storm the defences, leap into the vault, 

Crush the frail coffin, pierce his heart anew, 


97 


Cease not—until the thoughts he could not think 
Part the cold lips and murmur from the shroud! 


Smile, Mother! smile: array thy western halls, 
To greet his coming! Doubtless, he is warm 
With all fire-side affections. He will joy 

To clasp thee, now, far more than when a bride: 
And who may tell the sweetness that will flow 
All round his fatherly heart, as on his knees, 
Tossing their curls, his sons and daughters climb! 
O may they never lift a tender glance, 

And in their artless innocence inquire, 

How he was sepulchred in lonely cold, 

Whose heart was emptied by the rifle-ball!— 

A heart as full of love for home and babes, 
Haply, as ever beat: as full for thee— 

Poor, broken-hearted widow! Ah, my God! 
God of thy servant and his own dear group! 
Have mercy on the reft, whom thus we mourn: 
Nor less upon the circle still complete ! 
Methinks my wife would wear a widow’d look, 
In gayest moments: and my children’s eyes, 
Seem ever glistening with young orphans’ tears: 
My home would darken like the charnel-house; 
And every night my bedstead press me round, 
With odorous tightness of the coffin’s frame; 
The sheets would seem my shroud; the pillow feel 
As hard and chilling as the moist vault stone! 


Mute, motionless widow! Melancholy babes! 
God bless you, in your everlasting grief! 
No earthly comforter can heal such wounds! 


ey) 


98 


Say—shall we utter curses, deep and strong? 
Pray for the lightning? Call the earthquake up? 
Scathe and ingulf the workers of this wrong? 
Nay—far too much disgrace, too much distress, 
Prevail already. Neither may we know, 

How many guilty and in what degrees. 

Death should not make us partial to the dead; 
Life should not prejudice the one that lives: 
Their act the same—but one the better shot. 

The better shot! My poor brain reels and whirls: 
Still, reels and whirls! O would it were a dream! 
Immortal thanks to him who breaks this sleep! 
For duelling is murder, at the best: 

And here—why shoot at all? And shot they thrice? 
The best—the worst: all true distinction fails. 

T trembled on my bed, and now am blind. 

Grief only, in the centre of my soul, 

Has steady power, and ever prompts the prayer 
Yor pity! pity! all-forgiving woe! 

Oh, ts there mercy for the merciless? 


II. LATER NEWS. 


Tis only heighten’d horror! Poor, pale lips, 
Ye did not say—he is no gentleman! 

Silent unto the last: except to tell 

Your high respect for him, perforce your foe! 
‘Gentlemen! Are you ready?” Gentlemen! 
Men! ready for such cool attempt to kill! 
And Gentle Men! I dare not farther muse. 
But what? “The last of it?” This may not be. 
It ought not, can not, shall not! ’Tis a deed, 
To be remember’d and recited long: 

Sounding through all the uproar of all time— 


ag 


And asking judgment in the day of doom! 
Let “‘controversy” die. Names, motives, men: 
May pass, in pity. But the deed—the deed: 
May that sad lesson soon be read in law. 


Henceforth, the good man only has my vote: 
I can not, will not, wreathe the brow of sin! 


II. PUBLIC EXCITEMENT. 


Louder, and louder yet, the thunder rolls: 
Faster, and farther, filling all the sky, 
And shaking every hill and plain below. 


How dare they pray the tempest may subside? 
Idolaters before the people’s shrine: 

Let them pray God—He, only, stills the storm! 
“Excitement!” What? Its lawless worshipers? 
The rousers of its power? Are they alarm’d? 
Inyaders of our social sanctities— 

Cast they their chains upon our guardian waves? 
The waves dismiss them to the lowest depths, 
And rush upon the bands that flung them out: 
Stand back!—or soon the surge will bind ye all, 
With your own fetters, in its darkest caves! 


Who are they? Ha! Art sure it is their voice? 
There was a quarrel which they might have quell’d: 
That little, shameful, fatal, awful feud! 

Why that excitement did they not allay? 

That was the vapor of this hurricane! 

Their very weeping should have quench’d that fire: 
And sat they calmly round, fanning the flame? 
Twas their own match that started this deep train,x— 


100 


And now the whole land heaves—behold! they kneel! 
Kissing the soil, to soothe its quivering rage! 

Lifting their hands, to stay the toppling mounts! 
Away! The grave will open at your touch, 

The avalanche rush in ruin on your heads! 


The man of God climbs Horeb with delight: 

Enjoys the tumult—hails its height’ning power. 

Come on!—his rapture rising with the storm: 

Come on!—he cries—ye spirits of the air! 

Cast all your whirlwinds round the mountain peaks, 

And rend the rocks, like roses, as ye pass! 

Up from your caves!—ye giants of the earth! 

Roll the rich meads, as seas their billows roll, 

And toss the deserts, as the seas their foam! 

And ye—quick ministers of living fire! 

Flash from the sky, and crisp the land with flame! 

Ye are the heralds of Omnipotence! 

Your steeds—the winds! your wheels—the earthquake 
roll! 

Your reins—the lightnings, floating from your hands! 

Ye must precede the majesty of One, 

Who breathes a calm no other breath may break, 

Who looks a silence none may dare disturb, 

And speaks His purpose in “‘a still, small voice,” 

So instantly Divine in every ear, 

That sinners, shrinking, well may seek the gloom: 

While he, whose mantle yeils an humble brow | 

And faithful heart, may venture from the cleft, 

And meekly, in the Sabbath of the sphere, 

Commune with Thee! O Refuge of the World! 


101 


Excitement! ’Tis the very grace we need: 
. nino 7 ‘ s ’ 
Our morning, noon-day, evening, midnight pray’r! 


Why mourns imperial Truth upon her throne? 
Passion—her proper champion—stands aloof: 
Rebellion gloating in his sensual eye. 

In vain the queenly voice asserts her rights: 

The very court, encouraged by that leer, 

Riots in foulness, deadlier than the plague; 

And all the realm is pestilent with vice! 

What now? Has Passion, like the leper, wash’d? 
And is he pure? And grasps he now the sword 
With loyal hand and heart inspired from heaven? 
All hail! high Chieftain! Truth shall mourn no more: 
The slightest motion of her sceptre, now, 
Shall bring the court in sackcloth at her feet; 
And throng her gates with tribute from afar! 


Excitement is required—deep, lasting, strong. 
Naught else will answer. Reason toils in vain: 
Law waits her careless officers in vain: 
Religion pleads in vain—unless her voice 
Address the heart and wake excitement there. 
This, she may do: this, she alone may do: 
This, she is bound to do: expose the soul 
In tremulous quickness to the touch of God, 
That He, all-holy, breathing holy fire, 
May kindle energies that ne’er shall fail: 
A deathless enmity to hellish ill, 
A love immortal for all heavenly good, 
And more—a will, to make both manifest: 
That angel in the centre of the cloud, 

Ox 


102 


To frown like midnight on relentless pride, 
And smile like noon-day on the path of peace! 


Then let it rise, and swell, and strengthen still: 
All hail the terrors and the deep’ning clouds! 


But why emblaze the scene? Oh, not to burn 
Mere effigies, already hung in shame ! 

I would not add such tremors to their fears; 

I would not breathe, to aggravate their guilt; 

I could not, if they still have human hearts, 
(tive one more pang to their profound remorse. 
Sorrows have they to bear, they reck’d not then; 
Duties to render, that they never dream’d! 

Ah! had they known the event, no fires had flash’d 
Along those rifles! Rather than endure, 

What now they suffer, it had been allow’d,— 
One may mistake in judging gentlemen ! 


IV. DEMANDS. 


Excitement !—let it rise for good alone: 

To such a height, and taking such a course, 
That this one object be at once secured: 

A Sovereign Mandate of the Public Will— 
Demanding of the sinners due redress, 

The only offering, now, within their power; 
Repentance !—spoken out like rifle tones, 

Warm from the heart as was their victim’s blood! 
Then, let them be forgiven. Silently? 
Forgiven and forgotten? Ah! not so! 
Remember—’tis the death that shocks us all! 
Others have aim’d with same intent—who stand 
This day, the laurel’d favorites of the land! 


105 


Favor’d, not innocent—remember this. 

Ask nothing but confession—sad, indeed, 

But frank and manly: follow’d by the vow 

Of ceaseless opposition to the crime. 

Then, after decent silence, lead them back: 

Hear their full hearts: be not ashamed of tears: 
Forgive them as ye weep—forgive and love ! 

Yes, thou, my Country! clasp them to thy heart: 
Thy haughty sons, thus humbled, then restore! 
—Demanding of our Congress, such a Law 

As such high treason ’gainst our peace requires: 
And with it, due provision for its force— 

Some bond, its agents shall. not dare despise, 

To act at once—impartially severe. 

So let the sin be crush’d: so let the thirst, 

For brotherly blood, now burning through the land, 
Be cool’d forever at this fount of tears! 

This done, and well done, O Celestial Love ! 
Breathe like a summer morning round our sphere, 
On homes unstain’d and hearts without a wound ! 


THE THREE HARPS. 


qT. 


Give me an HumpitE HAarp— an humbled world 
Demands an humble utterance, deep and slow. 


The foolish may be gay; the guilty, proud: 
But he whose mind is chasten’d by the truth, 
Whose heart is solemn with the heaven of love, 
New-born, is meek and lowly, pure and wise. 


I cannot look on such a blighted orb, 
Blushless: I dare not so dishonor God, 
Demean my race, myself, or aught that is. 

I see, I feel, in all my nature know 

Myself, my race, degraded: know the globe, 
From pole to pole, is riven, ravaged, marr’d ; 
Know that the image of the Perfect One 
Oft, in such mirror, like a tyrant, scowls. 


The earth’s intent is nobler than it seems. 
The seeming is the drift-wreck of the curse. 
Made for an Eden soil, an Eden sky, 

What is it—but a sand-wash’d sepulchre? 
Is this not humbling? So, indeed, am I 


105 


Far nobler than the front of this disguise: 
Richer in hidden thought, affection, will— 
Richer in life, than this death-sleep may dream. 
Sin binds me—but, the chain and I are two: 

It is ignoble—but, not I, not I. 

My nature’s thrill is princely; and these bonds 
Shall yet be flung indignant at my feet. 
Meantime, ’tis humbling. So—my brotherhood, 
This melancholy kingship of the world; 

*Tis infinitely nobler than it seems: 

A godlike race—a race whose energies, 

If all developed, disciplined, applied; 

With due advantage seized of grace divine; 
Would so adorn the waste of natural good, 

Such spiritual glory shed on all the sphere, 
That soon creation’s angels would return— 

The morning stars to sing a loftier strain, 

The sons of God to shout a mightier joy, 

Than when th’ ungather’d light, from pole to pole, 
Round all the tropic kindled sudden day. 

God only knows what grandeurs like His own 
Lie darkling in the depths of our estate. 


All this is humbling. But—again, and more; 
God, even our God, is nobler than He seems. 
True, never man or angel may embrace 

The fulness of His greatness—infinite ! 

The wisest cherub, beaming on His left; 

The purest seraph, burning on His right; 
Highest of beings, nearest to His throne; 
Fairest exemplars of His truth and love; 
Before whose sandals, latch’d with living flame, 
The angel of the sun might cast his crown; 


106 


Hyen they commune with God, as in themselves 
Nothing, and less than nothing; glad in Him 
To worship glory none may comprehend. 

Still, God is willing, anxious, to reveal 
And we are able largely to receive— 
Such visions of His goodness, wisdom, power, | 

As may suggest perfection absolute. 

But, as the sun, obscured by passing mists, 

Gleams through them paler than the morning moon; 
So, through the clouds of error and of sin, 

The God of glory scarce an angel seems; 

Nay, more, still dwindling, sometimes less appears 
Than man himself—His form a stone, abused 

By ugliest art; His shrine, a brothel foul; 

His vestals, harlots; and his priesthood, knaves— 
Whose blush is blood, the jet from martyr’d fools; 
Whose breath is fetid with the fumes of hell. 

Is this not humbling? Yes—an Humble Harp: 

A harp as prideless as the bed of death, 

As mournful as the moaning of the grave, 

As doleful as the wailing of the lost, 

Such deep-toned strings I strike—in sullen shame. 


iBT. 


Give me a PLAIntIvVE HArp—thus humbled, right 
It is to mourn. I shed no childish tears; 

And have no thought, with soft-dissolving soul, 

To sigh, vain weakness, o’er mere outward ill. 

Let that be borne, as well it may, to teach 

The lesson of its mission—sadly wise. 


Yet is there cause for grief I cannot scorn: 
’Tis sin itself. To think, to feel, to know, 


107 


That I can be so hostile to my God; 

That all my race can be so; all opposed 

To infinite wisdom, in the pride of fools; 

To infinite goodness, in the craft of knaves; 

To infinite power, in meanness imbecile ; 

To government unerring, all opposed ; 

To universal order, all opposed ; 

To universal happiness, opposed ; 

To our own interests, whole and sole, opposed: 
To all we ought to reverence, all opposed; 

To think—that God is forced to smite the world; 
Fill heaven with lightning; lash the seas to foam; 
Burn out the mountains with volcanic fires; 

By earthquakes, cleave the main and sink the isles; 
Blast the green promise of the glowing spring; 
Check winter’s howl by famine’s sadder moan; 
Breathe the blue plague through all the golden air; 
Darken all homes with death; and crowd the ways 
With cross processions seeking countless graves: 
Suffer religion to erect false shrines; 

Suffer the state to usurp oppressive forms; 

Suffer the people to be made the slaves, 

Of kings and priests, at home; the enemies 

Of brotherly nations met abroad in war— 

Where mutual victims, myriad-slain, are piled 

As fuel on hell’s altars:—Thus to think 

Of Infinite Love, still toiling to subdue 

What still we cherish in our heart of hearts, 

As if it were our very life of lives; 

And see the monster’s image in myself, 

And see his throne and majesty in all— 

His agents, ignorance, and pride, and lust; 

Error and folly; selfishness and crime; 


108 


All that is low, and little, and unclean ; 

Making a man most fearful, most ashamed, 

Of his own being; conscious of all guile, 
Prompting all guilt;—The earth, still whirling round 
Its most magnificent and glorious course ; 

With such a lordly sun-eye on its flight; 

And such a sisterhood of silver spheres; 
Uncheck’d, untouch’d, still sweeping round the marge 
Of such a mighty orbit; turning still 

All seas and shores to that full noon of light— 
Its very shadow gemm’d with moon and stars; 
And yet—so hollow with its sepulchres, 

So blighted with its curse, so full and rife 

With all things mean, and cruel, and abhorr’d 
Even in a devil’s better memory :— 

How can [ else than mourn? To see my God, 
Our God, thus smite the earth, smite us, smite me; 
Remand his angels to their sinless bowers— 
Leaving the lone sky longing for their plumes, 
The mute air languishing for their musical songs; 
And then withdraw Himself; shut up His power, 
Or use it still in chastening: and withhold 

His wisdom, or in mystery employ: 

And only show His love in one more form; 

That all-surpassing and astounding plan— 
Sending his only and belovéd Son; 

“A man of sorrows and acquaint’ with grief :” 

To bear all possible infamy and scorn, 

Until, in wild rejection of his call, 

His chosen people hang him on the cross; 

And then—with all the curses of the world 

Held to his lips in gall; pour’d in his ears 

By vilest irony; about his brow 


109 


Twisted with piercing thorns; and to his feet, 
And in his hands, nail’d fast with cruel skill— 
To turn away without one murmuring word, 
And, while the holy baptism of his blood 
Sprinkles the sinfal sphere, to lift his eyes— 
Tearless, or only wet for others’ woe— 

To lift his heart, with every pulse unstirr’d, 
Except by deathless love ; and lift his voice, 
With not one tremor of his own deep pain, 

In pity’s sweetest and most earnest prayer— 

“ Mather! forgive! they know not what they do!” 
O, God! I can but weep! O, Christ! my heart, 
My stricken heart, melts in me and o’erflows ! 


And is this heart, even yet, the haunt of sin? 
Jesus!—expel the demon! Speak, Lord, speak! 
The very swine would rather die, than live 

With such a spirit in them-—seek the lake, 

That, where they perish, floods on floods may wash 
The foulness from their nature so defiled. 

Son of the living God! am I a man? 

And yet—so fallen? And are my brethren thus? 
QO, for a Plaintive Harp!—the saddest strain 
Becomes such woe. O, let me ever weep! 

Dry be my eyes in death, cold be my heart, 

And still my tongue, when I no longer feel 

The shame and sorrow of a sinful world. 


EMP 


Give me a Joyrut Harp—a world redeem’d 
Demands rejoicing. Humbled though we be, 
In all relations: mourn though well we may— 


We must not mourn as those who have no hope. 
10 


110 


I see redemption in the Book of God; 

I see it in the progress of the Church ; 

I feel it in myself—the lifting up 

Of a truth-lumined mind; the lifting up 

Of a love-hallow’d heart; the lifting up 

Of a regenerate nature, born of God. 

Sin, all disclosed, is utterly abhorr’d: 

Satan’s arch malice, and our own sheer shame, 
Can never be forgotten. God’s ways shine 
Higher than man’s as heaven above the earth. 
The moral nature saved, prepares the way 

To save the mind; and then, the body save. 
The sinful thus grows pure; the base becomes 
Exalted; rises thought, affection, will— 

The whole soul rises, heavenward; rising, shines: 
Shines with recover’d splendors of the God; 
Shines—in communion with the Only Strong ; 
Shines—in communion with the Only Fair; 
Shines—in communion with the Only Wise; 
Shines—in communion with the Only Good; 
Shines—in communion with the Only Glad; 
Itself—strong, fair, and wise, and good, and glad. 


Hope, like an angel, now suspends her lamp 
Within the tomb: that, when the pilgrim comes, 
His weary frame may rest in th’ evening shade 
Without a fear—dreaming of heaven all night, 
Close by its gates, to waken at the dawn 

And find them open, and his passport good, 

And joys immortal ’waiting him within. 


Meantime, Christ grows more precious to the soul, 
And more the Spirit; more the Holy Word; 


HLT 


The Church, and all things good in earth and heaven 
Like a heal’d blind man, gazing on full noon, 

He wonders at the gloom of earlier life, 

As much as at the glories round him now. 


So one is saved, and this—the type of all. 
All may be saved: and so, the earth itself, 
Relieved of its old curse, re-wrought in fire, 
Fairer than Eden all around its sphere, 
Shall breathe, and bloom, and smile, and sing, and shout— 
Salvation! Not a tomb—in soil or wave, 
And not a sigh—in all the healthful air, 
And not a tear—in all the fruitful dews, 
And not a grief—in all the boundless bliss! 
One word for all—give me a Joyful Harp: 
Kiternal life demands eternal praise! 


THE FIRST MAN, 


“These are the generations of the heaven and the earth when they were 
created, in the day that the Lorp Gop made the earth and the heavens. And 
every plant of the field before it was in the earth, and every herb of the field 
before it grew; for the Lorp Gop had not caused it to rain upon the earth, 
and there was not a man to till the ground. But there went up a mist from 
the earth, and watered the whole face of the ground. And the Lorp Gop 
formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the 
breath of life; and man became a living soul.””—GENESIS ii. 4-7. 


Light rose the morning mist, 

Through calmest regions of untainted air, 
Touch’d as it rose, with brightest, warmest tints 
Pour’d from a sun, unspotted, uneclipsed ; 

And far disclosing, by its soft ascent, 

A scene surpassing all that genius dreams, 
When beauty’s choicest visions charm the soul. 


So fresh, so green, so blooming, all BELOW :— 
So white the pebbles, gleaming from the depths 
Of clear, cool waters, gently gliding round; 

So fair the flowers that lean’d along the marge, 
More splendid in the mirror, upward turn’d ; 
But fragrant, as they droop’d and blush’d above; 
So graceful every motion, every shape 

Of woodlands, mellow’d with an emerald hue, 
Dawning through foliage with no faded leaf; 

So loving every action, every look 


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Of living wonders, filling wood and wave 

With frolic mirth by evil undisturb’d; 

So winning and entrancing countless birds, 

Up warbling gayly, with no pause of fear, 

Songs blent with sweets from blossoming homes of bliss. 


So wide, so high, so glorious, all ABOVE :— 
So dazzling, to the eagles’ glance, the sun; 
And go intensely blue, the boundless sky, 
Through whose dim distance breezes slow and bland 
The melting mildness of the mist withdrew. 


Realm, subjects, court, in grand array complete ; 
Why comes not forth the crown’d and sceptred king? 
A world in waiting for its god-like chief, 

Why lingers yet the pomp of peerless power? 


A bowery slope, with bloom and verdure soft, 
Opening on park and plain, in sun and shade,— 
Selectest loveliness of earth and sky,— 
Reveal’d the noblest of all forms Divine, 

The mold of man! 


The air was hush’d with awe; 
The grove, intent, as every leaf in thought; 
Sport ’neath the branches stood unmoved; above, 
With folded plumes, in silence, music gazed. 


Unconscious yet, the perfect structure lay, 
It was not DEATH! The air had never known 
The coming spectre, breathing, claim its sphere; 
The waters had not darken’d to their depths, 
Or shudder’d in the shadow of his wings; 

10% 


114 


The earth had never quaked beneath his feet, 
Seal’d by their print, a common sepulchre; 

Nor in that ample frame had active warmth 
Kvolved and been exhausted; no decay, 
Obstruction none, nor aught of fatal sign 

Invoked the grave! And yet it was not LIFE !. 
Nor swoon, nor trance, nor any accident 

Of vital being held its empire there. 

And sleep was not; no sense had been awake, 

No pulse was yet in motion; in the brain, 

No outward image, no perceptive mind. 

A statue !—not from adamant cut out, 

With superficial gloss of solid mass; 

But wrought from dust, with transformation strange, 
To bone, flesh, blood; without, of port sublime; 
Within, of rarest wisdom; only known 

To Him who made it; ready at His touch, 

To start !—with thousand instincts quick inspired. 


A matchless work. 'The common elements 

In glorious union, such as earth and heaven 

Had none to rival. Angels there beheld 
Innumerous symmetries, which God alone 

Could harmonize in thought; which God, Himself, 
Imbodying, deem’d the glory of His skill,— 

The image of His own Communing Form; 

All dignity and beauty blent with grace ; 

And over all a faint-diffusing tint, 

A glowing prayer to catch the flame of life. 


It seem’d the pause were purposed that the Sire, 
Pleased with His offspring, might demand of all 
If such a shape became the lord of earth ? 


me itd 


And all the native ranks gave glad assent; 
Such mild, subduing majesty went forth, 
From that Unliving One; and all on high, 
Spirits of power, of beauty, and of speech ; 
Spirits of order, government, and law; 
Spirits of life, health, immortality,— 

All witnesses of all the works of God— 
Exulted in the fitness of the choice, 

And hail’d the Coronation of the Man! 


The Breath of Lives! 


And instantly arose, 
Flush’d with the fire, the Father of the World! 
His soul was in a trance of truth and bliss, 
Thought and affection filling first with God, 
Admiring and adoring: promptly sage 
To know all facts, relations, ends; and soon 
Opening his senses to the realm around! 


A deeper silence held the subject sphere: 
Watching those wondrous eyes, whose starry glance 
Pierced the dark glen, o’er hill and valley shone, 
Reposed enraptured on the ardent sun, 

And gave the whole calm circle to the mind. 

Then gush’d the sound of waters on his ear, 

Fresh inspiration! Whispering brooks came close, 
And, hurrying through the gloom, again look’d back 
From distant sunshine; and the solemn roar 

Of unseen falls, from forests moist with spray, 
Remoter homage brought subdued and slow. 

Quick, low and sweet began, and swelling rose, 

The myriad welcoming of half-hid birds, 


116 


The near leaves trembling with their trill’d delight; 
While, self-recover’d from that royal glance, 

The lion, rising in his wild retreat, 

Pour’d the haught thunder of a stronger life! 
Woke, too, the wind—and touch’d the tissued nerves 
With most delicious coolness; while the flowers 
From dewy censers flung their perfumes forth ; 
And all the scene, released from its restraints, 
With nobler charms than when so brightly still, 
Waved shadowy round; and he—the lord of all! 
Shook, as a child in joy, his manly locks! 


THE FIRST WOMAN. 


His Maker knew, as Adam strangely felt— 

“Tt is not good for man to be alone.” 
But—where his mate? In what retreat of love, 
Veil’d her fair charms the semblance of himself? 
Did Paradise indeed embower such bliss? 


Soon—led by that same Hand whose care supreme, 
Tn after age of doom, conducted far 

To Noah’s ark, their wilding progeny ; 

Wild, fierce, or fearful then, because of sin— 

In long procession, gay and beautiful, 

The tribes of earth and air, before their lord, 

On foot, or wing, in various order pass’d: 

And, as they pass’d, the peerless genius, taught 
To read the mind of God in all His works, 

Knew at a glance and rightly named them all. 
Still, unrelieved, the thought oppress’d his heart, 
That all he saw were twain, and he—but one! 

The mammoth’s mount of life moved massive on— 
An humbler mountain moving at his side: 

The lion, with his shaggy mane, appear’d— 

A smoother neck oft leaning on his own: 

The light gazelle, on lightest hoof, drew near— 
His mild eye met by mildness softer still: 


118 


And so the birds—like twin affections, doves, 
Tipping their wings, in silent rapture flew: 

The peacock turn’d his glories in the noon— 
While meekly peck’d along his plainer mate: 
And, shadowing as they came the verdant scene, 
Together stooping to the topmost branch, 

With slowly-closing plumes and eyes of fire, 

Sat, side by side, the eagle and his queen. 


But neither earth nor air reveal’d a grace 

Fit for the fondness of the prince of both— 

Lord of a world of life, yet all alone, 

Not even in heaven itself was nature found 

To make his meet companion. Space was void— 
Nor sun, nor planet furnish’d mate for man. 

And so, all Eden; and the grander globe; 

And kingship over all; wisdom that none 

Hath ever since approach’d; knowledge, with joy 
In objects known; and holiness, unstain’d; 

And visiting angels, dropping from the sky 

Like showers of stars, and hovering round his path 
As ministers of truth and ecstacy: 

All fail’d to fill the want of one, whose heart 
Should pulsate like his own; whose eyes should hold 
His constant image, and themselves discern 
Shining in his, with bliss of blended souls; 

Her voice, meanwhile, in soft aeolian tones, 
Passing the open entrance of his ear, 

And playing on the trembling chords of love. 


In Him alone was hope, who woke the want: 
Want waked so soon—so well to be supplied. 


119 


Ere long, of victors gentlest, sweetest, came, 
Calmly and unobserved, benignant Sleep. 

A helpless captive, form and soul possess’d, 
Down lay, all still and motionless, the man. 

As though it ne’er had been—the world was not: 
As though he ne’er had lived—he senseless lay: 
Yet different from his first and pale repose, 
Before the breath Divine had thrill’d his frame; 
For now, throughout, a genial warmth prevail’d, 
And all his surface glow’d with living flame. 
There too the soul, unconscious, dwelt serene: 
Immortal mystery, akin to God, 

But lent to earth and longing for the skies. 
Strange jewelry! that thus a diamond set, 

To which the sun itself is but a spark, 

Lost soon as seen. No dream awoke within: 
As deep as death the spell from which arose 
Another life—a finer, fairer life: 

As from the darkest night the meek-eyed moon. 


Unseen and quietly, creative Power 

Fulfils its last design. <A starting form, 

Of startling loveliness; with timid soul, 

Of purest love; threw back her flowing hair ; 
Gazed on the motionless sleeper; cast a glance 

On her own rounded limbs; and turn’d, and look’d, 
Wondering at every range of heaven and earth: 
Then gazed again upon that slumbering shape, 
And wonder’d more that one so nobly wrought 
Should lie so still—with such a thoughtful brow, 
Should seem so dull, in such excess of joy. 

She would have touch’d him; but an instinct check’d 
Her taper finger and extended arm. 


120 


There stood the beauty of the beauteous world! 
Man was the golden crown on nature’s brow— 
Woman, its frontlet gem, o’ersparkling all. 

To him—the sun and earth, rocks, hills, and trees, 
Transferr’d their dignity, and pomp, and power: 
To her—the gentlest yieldings gave their grace; 
And all the lights and perfumes, tints, and tones, 
Of stars and flowers, smooth shells and merry birds, 
All rare and comely things, combined to make 

Her volatile and glancing charms complete. 


Not long, or far, the fairest of all forms, 
Wander’d, ’midst bloom and music, rapt, alone— 
Before the noblest, new-created, rose. 


His prospect now was dearer than at first, 

All things, like groups of well-remember’d friends, 
Restored to love, as he restored to life. 

But oh! what happy state of mind and heart 

May prompt the word to touch the one sweet chord 
That quiver’d with its most exquisite bliss, | 
When, beaming from a bower of roses near, 

He first beheld—and felt, as soon as seen, 

The lovely one his own—the living eyes 

Of timid Eve, half blushes and half smiles: 

In body, one—the image of himself: 

She, form’d from him: his rib removed, to make 
His heart defenceless—heart already full 

Of her first arrows: she, of such a curve, 

From such a place, contrived, to show her task— 
To curl around his heart and guard it well: 

In soul, yet separate—but soon to be 

Iu sympathy and thought forever one. 


121 


What words are left of early springtide hours, 
Wherewith their meeting and their love to tell? 
Hye searching eye, soul flashing into soul, 

The bridal, and the blessing, and the joy. 

Sing, all ye birds !—yet where the soul of birds? 
Sadly, though sweet, their delicate music fails. 
Tell it, ye angels !—but the angels lack 

The glowing softness of the thrilling form— 
Sublime their speech but gloriously cold. 

Let thought and sense their own communion hold, 
The one, subdued by tender things of earth; 
The other, consecrating all to heaven. 


Nature no longer now defective seem’d— 

The man’s defect reproaching all its sphere: 

But, woman gain’d, creation stood complete. 

The paradise was perfect—all the world 

Might well have wish’d its overflow of bliss. 

Life lost in life, love merged in love, they moved 
In transport none could heighten: knew their God, 
Enjoy’d His works, and honor’d all His ways. 


Il 


MELTING THE ICE: 


A PLEA FOR RESERVED PEOPLE. 


——- 


From shore to shore, the Stream was bound with ice— 
Ice thick enough to bear the delicate feet 

O’ th’ lonely snow-bird, pecking for a drink; 
Nay, thick enough to bear the dainty cat, 

And little girl, and the girl’s nurse-maid too; 
Nay, thick enough t’ endure the sudden shock 

O’ th’ shouting school-boys, rushing from the hill, 
All sliding, sledding, skating; joining hands 

In circling groups, and stamping long and strong 
To hollow tickly-benders—but in vain; 

Nay, thick enough to bridge the massive mail, 
Down rattling from the pike, and trotting o’er 
With sixteen iron hoofs, four grinding wheels, 
Seven bags, ten trunks, and nine fat passengers; 
In a word, to say no more, that ice was thick— 
And ’tis not strange, that all the trees around; 
And all the hills whereon the said trees grew; 
And all the airs that lived among those hills; 
And e’en the moon and stars, which like to see 
Their miniatures on the breasts of brooks they love; 
And e’en the sun himself, who seeks a smile 

In quick reflection of each smile he gives; 

It is not strange, I say, these all agreed— 


125 


“ That ice-bound Stream ts quite too much reserved ; 
Unsociable, shut up within itself, 
Not to become acquainted with at all.” 


“© What shall be done,” said they, ‘to break the ice ?”’— 
Without due thought concluding, in their haste, 

It must be broke, and ’twas high time to break it. 

So, as the boys and stages fail’d, next came 

A host of axe-and-hook-men, with their teams, 

For stores to cool the coming summer’s heat. 

Then flew the ice-chips; then the floating cakes, 
Struck by the hooks were safely drawn ashore ; 

And through the chasm, at last, the Stream appear’d. 
Ah! vain disclosure! Ere the morrow’s morn, 
Another crystal roof conceal’d its flow. 


What now remain’d? ‘“ We'll break it by main force !”— 
Exclaim’d the Winds: and down they drove their blasts, 
Roaring like thunder through the frozen gorge. 

Not an edge started, not a rent was seen! 

The axe-men’s chippings, and the sparkling scales 

Left by the skaters, and the drifted flakes 

Of the last snow, whirl’d whitening from the scene: 

But the smooth channel, smoother than before, 

And brighter too, lay just as hard and cold. 


“ Take clubs to help you !’’—cried th’ impatient Woods: 
And handed to the Winds a thousand boughs, 

And some dead stocks entire—but still in vain. 

The heavy stocks, with wide-spread tangling roots, 
Caught various rests along their uncrack’d course, 

And the light branches scream’d with very shame ; 

As o’er the unscratch’d glaze their splinter’d twigs, 
Still seeking rest, yet restless, fled dismay’d! 


124 


“ Take rocks to help you!’—cried th’ indignant Hills: 
And down the crashing land-slide crushing came. 
Then countless icy fragments leap’d aside, 

Piling their glittering mounds from shore to shore ; 
And, like a wounded whale, that in its pain 

Spouts brine and blood together, so that Stream 
From every crevice toss’d its turbid jets, 

Showering and surging round the fallen wreck. 

“ Hurra!” the echoing echoes echoed all: 

“ Hurra!’—but, while the moon and stars look’d on, 
A frosty film crept slowly o’er the wave, 

And ere the dawn ’twas well-set ice again. 


Twas plain that in the sun the last hope lay ; 
And he to milder measures seem’d inclined. 
He even deign’d to smile upon the Stream, 
But so obliquely that it did no good! 


Meantime, alas! within the under-gloom 

Of that imprisonment, the Stream ran low, 
Lamenting its sad lot; with all its soul 

Wishing the ice were gone, and all around 

In friendship’s full communion freely join’d: 

But said— The help must come from those without.” 


And so—for well he understood it all— 

Kach day the sun bestow’d a straighter ray. 
And then, forsooth, the quickly-conscious airs 
Grew warmer-hearted; and the reddening trees 
Show’d a congenial glow in all their limbs; 
And the moist hills, along their greening slopes, 
Gave sign of better cheer; and some one said— 
“* Perhaps the Stream is less to blame than we: 
Let's concentrate the heat, and try again!” 


125 


Eftsoon, ’twas marvellous to see the ice, 

Relenting to that change, begin to melt— 

To melt, not break: to melt in all its course, 

Not yielding at one point, but everywhere : 
Until—the axe-men valued it no more ; 

The stage-men check’d their steeds upon its verge; 
The tickly-bender boys shrunk from ’t, afraid ; 
The foolish maid, fond child, and dainty cat, 

Ay, even the smallest bird, no footing found— 
And the last fragment floated off forever ! 


And then, to see that Stream—so “much reserved, 
Unsociable, shut up within itself, 
Not to become acquainted with at all”— 
To see it kiss the miniature of the moon: 
To see it telegraphing all the stars; 
To see it smiling on the smiling sun ; 
To see it dimpling to each whispering air; 
To see it shadowing under every hill; 
To see it rustling ’neath each rustling tree; 
To see it imaging every little flower, 
And every grass-blade bending o’er its brink ; 
To see it bathing every wild bird’s wing; 
And gliding with the cygnet and her brood ; 
And scooping little caves for timid fish— 
Where th’ arrowy trout, o’erhung with matted brush, 
Suspends its spots and waves its fins in peace ; 
To see it giving drink to all that lives, 
And making all its course a paradise : 
And then, to hear it talking, day and night, 
Talking as though its tongue could never tire, 
Talking to every old neglected log, 
And every jutting root, and ruffling stone, 

11* 


126 


And gray-hair’d rock, and miller’s wheel and dam: 

Oh! surely ’twould have bless’d your heart to see 

And hear all this! and so, at last, to learn— 

That, of all free, familiar, genial things, 

In all the world, that Stream—so “ much reserved, 
Unsociable, shut up within itself, 

Not to become acquainted with at all’”— 

That Stream—whose ice was best removed by warmth— 
Was, after all, the Peerless Paragon! 


SOUND OF THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN. 


I, who of late so seldom touch the harp 

Which nature, at the gate of life, bestow’d— 

To cheer my wanderings through this weary world; 
Now sing once more a brief suggestive strain. 


Last night, away from town, while lying awake— 
My window opening on a moonlit scene, 

Sky, wood and field—with the white fence athwart: 
In the stillness of the house, the air, the light, 

The sleeping cloudlets and the sleeping woods, 

I listen’d, intent, for some relief of sound. 

But, neither dog, nor fowl, nor aught that breathes, 
Disturb’d the silence—save that a common chirp, 
Nay, let me make the word—a common chimp, 

A chirp with a glass-like tinkle, ceaseless rose 
From countless crickets, filling all the night. 


Yet, soon, another and remoter sound 

Began to search the ear. All even and low, 
Then sharp and fast it came with urgent power. 
Just as a servant, who has overslept 

Her proper time, and in the kitchen turns 

The coffee-mill with strong and rapid hand: 
Or, as it nearer came, as he who stands 


128 


Close by the curb, and with his heavy foot 

Gives swifter motion to the moisten’d wheel, 

And grinds the steadily-prest and fire-edged knife : 
So, like the keen, continuous, earnest rush 

Of these small instruments, that midnight sound 
Sinuous, and sometimes finely-quivering, came— 
Came quicker, weightier, mightier, meaning more: 
Now, suddenly sinking: then, as suddenly, 
Shooting from some obstruction: swelling out, 
With wooden roll; then, thinn’d to an iron ring: 


Seeming, at times, as if on one straight stretch 


©) 
Through the open distance; then, with changing tone 
Of closer pressure, squeezing round some curve : 
And so, on-hastening with augmenting roar, 
Till—like a storm—it thunder’d glorious by! 
Then—lull’d again to silence absolute : 
Silence of sky, and wood, and fencéd field : 
Or, broken only by that common chimp, 
That chirp with a glass-like tinkle, rising shrill 
From countless crickets, filling all the night. 


So, from eternal stillness comes a Life— 

That struggles till it fills the world with fame; 
Then sinks again to silence like the first. 
Yet—stays its course, because we do not see? 
Or, sounds it less, because we hear it not? 


THE CATHEDRAL BELL. 


Right in the rush of the wind-driven rain, 

Down dashing cold, and rattling roaring on, 
Climbing the hill like thunder, o’er it sweeping 
In hissing triumph through the sudden void, 
And so from hill to hill, from vale to vale: 

Right in such rush of the drear Sabbath night, 
Out rang that full, strong, soft Cathedral Bell ; 
True to the moment, and as cheerily 

As though all heaven were clear, the stars all bright, 
The round moon beaming, and the streets all dry, 
And throng’d with comfortable passengers! » 


“Well”—thought I—“ so it is: our Romanist friends 
Outweather us!” 


What more [ should have thought, 
Remains a mystery: for, while yet the bell 
Diffused its gentle music through the gloom, 
Like David harping down the wrath of Saul, 
Or mercy, mediating with the storm— 
Shrill as a fiend’s shriek, struck the sky and fell, 
The Rail-road steam-scream ! like a spear of sound— 
A javelin of vocal agony— 


130 


Flung by some lightning-hand, or fiercely shot 
From some ballista of this peerless age! 


Then thought I—while the Protestant Bells join’d in: 
‘‘ Not only are those Romanists punctual, 

But Trade, that knows no Sabbath, drives ahead, 
Through storm, and night, and winter, rolling out 
The Fourth Commandment ’twixt the wheel and rail, 
To gossamer thinness, and, from State to State, 
Through scores of careless towns, still carrying on 
Conscience, upon the cow-catch, torn and bleeding, 
Reddening the track for many a ghastly mile!” 


Alas! and can no hardihood be found 
Among Christ’s true disciples ? 
Where are they ? 


THE TWO ANGELS. 


(PESTILENCE AT NORFOLK AND PORTSMOUTH.—WAR AT SEBASTOPOL.) 


Man’s angel at heaven’s gate stands deadly pale: 

Her wings close wearily, her aching head 

Leans on her hands, her hands the knocker grasp, 

And with her throbbing heart her whole frame shakes— 
Shakes, showering from her eyes most bitter tears. 

In vain she tries to rap, her heart alone 

Gives to the trembling knob a murmuring roll. 


God’s angel hears the sound, withdraws the bolt, 

And seats the wretched weeper by her side. 

‘Whence, and why thus?”’—she asks, in soothing tone. 
 Alas!’—the mourner answers—“ Has not God 
Harden’d His heart? Behold those desolate towns: 
Three months of plague have fill’d a thousand graves!” 
“Ts this thy grief?””—the shining one replies: 

“God’s wrath is but the veil that hides His love. 

But see yon smoking ruins, red with blood! 

There men themselves have wrought their chosen fate, 
And three days’ war show thirty thousand slain !”’ 
Man’s angel sinks, and, in her sister’s lap 

Hiding her face, weeps still more hopelessly. 

God’s angel smoothes the sad, dishevell’d brow, 

And breathes once more: ‘ Wait, sister! wait: 

One hope remains. This day I saw the Curist 
Review His host, and at the close He stretch’d 

His sceptre earthward” 


A PLEASANT SPIRIT. 


There is a Spirit in the universe 

That God hath given to know all beautiful things, 
All true things understand, all good things love, 
All happy things enjoy, and all forever! 


The devil deceived it once—and wrought great wrong: 
All which it mourn’d not, but bewail’d the sense 
Of its own sin and shame, its sympathy, 

With all the excellence of its proper sphere, 
Grown dull—a grief that fast absorb’d its life. 


So had it lain abandon’d until now, 

Dying, ay, dead—forgotten even of Hope; 
But when the Son of God came down from heaven 
To save the world, His Father bade Him pause 
By this lone weeper—weeping in the path 

Of all the stars, as if no star went by; 

’Mid angel songs, as if no song were sung; 
*Mid all of truth, and good, and happiness, 

As if these were no more—or not for it; 

And kindly, gently, whisper blessed words 

Of peace, and pardon, and immortal cheer; 
And charm its vision with His humble guise 
Of earthward grace and glory; and inspire 


133 


Its rescued genius with a rarer art, 
Than erst it knew, and service nobler far. 


All this did Christ: and so, the comforted 

Became a comforter—and is one still. 

Long, long ago, when my dear mother saw 

Her bosom brighten’d with her baby’s eyes, 

That spirit hover’d o’er us. Praise the Lord! 
Though that sweet mother needs such help no more, 
It seeks me still. Redeem’d, and touch’d with love 
For all of God in all the universe, 

Methinks each pulse that leaves the Central Heart, 
To thrill creation with its circling bliss, 

Remembers it must pass my conscious being, 

And bless me too. 


What though these storm-clouds lower? 
This lightning gleams? This thunder mutters round? 
This rain still falls? This pestilence still slays? 
I KNOW THAT Gop Is Love! and in the sun, 
His angel stands observant of the storm, 
Knowing the death below it; and o’er all 
Its upper plains and mounds, and pinnacles,— 
Like isles of snow, and domes and spires of pearl,— 
Powders dry sunshine, pours prismatic hues, 
Breathes the live freshness of all fragrant airs, 
Stations a seraph on each golden point, 
And greets that spirit, rising through the gloom, 
With quick assurance all is fair above; 
For sin, and shame, and storm, and plague, and death, 
Are things of earth—and all in heaven is light, 
And health, and life, and love, and God—forever! 

12 


SYMPATHIES. 


JUNE 29, 1852. 


(DEATH OF HENRY CLAY.) 


This morn, close veil’d within its trembling nerves, 
My spirit shudder’d at some mystic touch— 

My feelings ebb’d tow’rd some mysterious woe. 
The clouded sky, the warm and weeping air; 

The languor of the scarcely-breathing world ; 
Studious confinement, and the waste of thought; 
Left the exhaustion still but half explain’d. 


I have met others, who of common things 
Have spoken common words, with tears to-day. 


Why this strange sinking? ‘True: the tolling bells 
Now smite upon the ear; and Sabbath gloom, 
Too quick return’d with more than Sabbath awe, 
Has settled on the silent aisles of trade: 

And homeward faces, hush’d with pale respect, 
Bear conscious witness to the solemn cause: 
And the check’d newsmen, softlier gliding on, 
Give gentler handling to their funeral prints: 
And dim-eyed readers see the instant flags 
Drooping o’er distant capitals, and hear 

The mourning of the bells in all the land: 


135 


And, wondering at the ministry of art, 
Share in the nation’s simultaneous grief: 
But these come after that strange morning ebb. 


Is there a water level of our life? 

It seems as though old Erie had at last 

Slip’d from its bed, and ’neath Niagara’s bows, 
Expanding brightlier for the glorious flood, 

Had pass’d in grandeur to the welcoming Sea: 
And therefore now—this universal fall. 

Alas! the level must reform: but when 

Shall all these shores, resounding through the past 
With such a mellow voice of majesty, 

Regain their lost magnificent height of wave? 


Is there a temperature of national life? 

And was it the abstraction of one soul 

That gave our social sphere that common chill? 
That weakness in the motion of all hearts? 
That trembling in the net-work of all nerves? 
That sudden sinking of mysterious woe? 

And was it thus the loneliest student felt 

The parting of an element that long 

Had quicken’d all the millions of our land? 


If so—to God! the Father of us all! 

Who, taking from us each inferior aid, 

Shows, in its absence, that in Him alone, 

We live, and move, and have our being—to Him 
Be pledged anew eternal faith and praise. 


TRUE-HEARTED GRIEF. 


While yet his morn of life was fresh and fair— 
Hre its pure light was set ablaze with heat, 

Kre its pure air was thick with troubled dust,— 
I watch’d his stem, and leaf, and bloom of being: 
A plant that might have blest a Paradise, 

So graceful in its form, so foliage-rich, 

Hues and aroma so delectable. 


One might have pray’d, that, as the noon came on, 
His delicate flowers should fold their charms and droop: 
Then, in more gentle hours, with light as cool 
And air as dustless as the hallow’d dawn, 
Unfold again, to fall, (when fall they must, ) 
Replenish’d with the dews of penitence 
Beneath the brightness of faith’s evening star, 
Dropping good seeds of immortality. 


Alas! that while the scene was all aglare, 

All stifling, scarcely turn’d the height of noon, 
His stalk, already wounded, leaves less full, 
Bloom scorch’d and sanded, suddenly he felt 
The fatal stroke, and in the desert fell. 


137 


Ten thousand tongues ten thousand praises speak— 
Admiring gifts which ne’er may be forgot: 

But all our eulogies in sadness close, 

Breathing ten thousand _pities. 


He who writes, 
And he who reads, may well withhold their hands 
From that pale brow, and beat their own poor breasts, 
Uplifting each, with many tears, the cry— 
‘OQ God! be merciful to me—a sinner!” 


12* 


"BIDE YOUR TIME. 


Printed on flimsy paper, paper-bound, 
IT am a poor, plain, grey, octavo book. 


In eighteen twenty-four, in Scotland born; 
Sometime, somehow, I cross’d th’ Atlantic wave, 
And in your Franklin Library found—a grave. 


But lo! this blessed day a stranger came, 
And eall’d for—me! The blank and silent awe 
Of all the myriads round must be—imagined. 


I could not see, but yielded to the touch, 
And felt the thrills of long-suspended life. 


The stranger bore me to his thoughtful home, 

Placed me upon his table, scann’d mine eyes, 

And found their lids all closed. Two Arguses, 

With twice two hundred eyelids shut and seal’d, 
Were symbols of the darkness of my doom. 

With long, thin, white, smooth, flat, sharp instrument, 
He open’d every eye. Heaven’s light broke in 
Between the lashes, flashes fast on flashes, 

Till all my face was fire, my spirit glorious. 


139 


Now, what so beauteous as the placid brow, 
The radiant, ever-changing countenance, 
Of a good book? Even so my grateful heart 
Is quite made up, that, as my Friend turns o’er 
Page after page, my life—my inmost life, 
Shall mutely glance into his soul of souls, 
And all that I can do to aid his quest, 
Shall be both his reward and my chief rapture. 


QO, it is heaven to have an humble chance 
Of doing good! At last my time has come! 
Hear, ye despairing! hear, and ’bide your time! 


VISIT TO A MOTHER’S GRAVE. 


The time that I had waited for, arrived: 

The hour of evening gloom. Earth lay at rest, 
And the bright stars were on their silent watch. 
The village street—that had an hour before 

Been gay with forms of childhood, youth and age, 
In sportive walk, or conversation, joined— 

Was all forsaken. Olden willows hung 

Their long green branches nearly to the ground; 
But they, the laughing children—who had swung, 
Dependent, there—were dreaming of new joys! 
The river-waves upon the grassy bank, 

Shadow’d by ancient elms, made music still; 

But white-robed maidens, leaning on the arms 

Of tall youths, fondly, were no longer there; 

But in their chambers mused on plighted vows! 
The comfortable porches—where the old 

Had met in converse, or, alone, review’d 

The path of life, and cast an onward glance 

Into futurity ; or, turning, gazed 

With smiles upon the willow-swinging boys— 
The porches were deserted, and the old 

Bow’d at their family altars, blessing God! 

Such was the hour, when, from my grandsire’s door 
I bent my steps to seek my mother’s grave! 


141 


My soul was glad that no obtrusive eye 

Would note my path and errand; for I long’d 

To yield my heart to grief, mine eyes to tears, 

Where grief is full and tears most freely flow. 
The fencing scaled, I stood among the graves. 

There, searching in the gloom for ways between, 

With careful step I shunn’d the sacred mounds, 

Nor dared to trample on a fellow’s dust. 

The grave I sought was found—my Mother’s Grave; 

And I was there alone! No one to chide, 

No one to draw me thence; alone to muse, 

To kneel in sorrow, weep, and call on God. 

Oh! how I prized that hour! The starry night 

Was dearer far than day! the moaning wind 

More musical than pleasant voice of friend! 


And can it be?—my feelings prompted thus: 
And can it be? My mother dead and here! 
This clay—is it her covering? The tall stone— 
Hath it indeed, her name? I /fe/t the stone; 

I traced the deep-cut letters with my hand, 
And trembled as I found each letter true! 

I thought of Home, as once it was—of home 
As brighten’d by a mother’s smile of love. 
How tenderly she loved us! Emily, 

My sister! thou rememberest her love ! 

Nay, my young sister—even she can tell | 
How tenderly our mother loved us all! 

True, wealth was not our patron, and, at times, 
K’en comfort seem’d departing ;—true, her frame 
Was wasted by disease and rack’d with pain; 
But still her patient soul was rich in peace, 
And the mild radiance of her eye and lip 


142 


Imparted peace, as though ourselves were ill, 

And she a healthful angel, kindly sent 

To breathe delight upon our fainting hearts! 

I linger’d with these thoughts. Hach room of home 
Had scenery that charmed me; in the midst, _ 

My mother, scattering blessings. Morning scenes, 
Noon-day and night scenes, meal-time, study, prayer: 
Bright winter scenes—when the warm fire was built, 
And we all gather’d round it, wishing still 

The welcome coming of our evening treat! 

Fair summer scenes—when every door was wide, 
And the new-painted hearth was well adorn’d 

With boughs and flowers in humble vase combined. 
The more I mused, a clearer light was thrown 

On every picture, and my mother’s form, 

Her look—her motion—vivid were as /ife ! 

I broke the spell! again I wildly cried— 

And can it be?—My mother dead and here! 

My whole soul was impassion’d, and I bow’d 
Beneath the power of passion all subdued: 

For it was true!—lI could not shun the truth— 

And such a truth!—O God! to think that there 

My mother was corrupting! food for worms! 


Others may scorn the body—eall it clay; 

A poor clay tenement, unworthy thought; 

A casket—valueless, but for its gem. 

But long as memory can repeat the phrase, 

© You had a mother!” shall my tongue refrain 
From such dishonor to the sacred dead. 

I loved my mother’s form—around it twined 
My best affections. Spirits are unseen, 
Unheard, unfelt. I knew my mother’s soul 


143 


But through the loving eye—the gentle voice, 
And lip of fondness, kissing my young cheek. 

I loved her eye-—it beams upon me still! 

I loved her voice—it still consoles mine ear! 

I loved her lip—behold! the smile is there! 
Alas! ’twas but a dream! again I wake: 

The eye—the voice—the lip of love, are ost! 
Oh! how my spirit struggles, as I ery— 

Say, can it be! my Mother dead and here! 

Aye! wasted—mouldering—every part dissolved! 


‘Twas then that God vouchsafed my troubled soul, 
A glorious emblem of my mother’s bliss. 

I had knelt down, and o’er the grave’s head bent; 
And there, at the wild prompting of despair, 

I call’d—in low tone— Mother !—and the wind, 
As silently I paused, stirr’d the long grass 

Upon the grave-top—but no voice replied! 

In mad self-mockery, again I spoke, 

In plaintive tone, my Mother !—but no sound 
Broke the deep stillness! Upward to the sky, 
With heart relenting to the will of God, 

Then turn’d my glance; and lo! a meteor bright— 
Bright as the morning’s herald-star!—shone out 
From the blue distance, and athwart the sky, 

On golden wing, with trailing glory, flew— 

Till lost again in azure; and I /e/¢ 

The truth it taught— Your Mother ts in heaven! 


THANKSGIVING FOR THE BIBLE. 


The grateful utterance of a glowing heart 
Accept, O God! My spirit burns to tell 
Its debt of love. | 


Oh! all-surpassing Book ! 
A gift that worlds were far too poor to buy! 
The very hand that holds it thrills with joy; 
The ardent eye is gladden’d by each page; 
And when I press the treasure to my breast, 
The deep pulsations quicken at the touch, 
While, looking upward to the beaming sky, 
And glancing at each star that sparkles there, 
I feel my immortality ; and call 
The earth a moment’s stopping place—my home 
The central heaven—the universe my range ! 


Father! I thank Thee. Heart, and voice, and harp, 
With feeling, word, and music, yield Thee praise! 


What though the mighty Angel spread his wings 
O’er hill and dale, and in the fatal shade 
Thousands lie down and perish, and the wail 

Of kindred thousands, weeping o’er the dead, 
Alarm the land; still may my soul obtain 


145 


A short relief from sympathetic tears, 

And, musing on Thy promises, grow asl 

As saint who rests in heaven. Ay, should my friends— 
They who would be, but for Thy warning voice, 
The idols in the Sisto of my love— 

Fall, one by one, till the grave held the last, 

_ Still—oh! forbid my holy faith should fail! 
Still—ah, my God! stay, stay my fainting soul! 
Still, still, triumphant o’er vain fears—my heart, 
My wounded heart, would leap with new delight, 
And [ would stand upon their tombs and shout 
‘In hope of pyerissuine fellowship ! 


My mother is in heaven! ‘The Hilden streets 
Of Thine eternal city, and the plains, 

That ever bloom around it, and the hills. 
That close the vast horizon, all adorn’d 

With Thine effulgent glory—never saw 

’The passing shadow of o’erflying death. 

My mother hath no fear! There, at her side, 
Three cherub children, glad and beautiful, 

_ Forever walk, and other kindred saints 
Commune with her rapt spirit. 


But on earth 
A throng of loved ones breathe the tainted air; 
From some around whose wrinkled temples shine 
Locks white as silver, to the new-born babe, 
Lying in snowy raiment on the lap, 
- And wondering at his mother’s earnest eyes. 
_ And one, to whom my spirit can but cling 
- With most intense affection, walks the wards 
| Of a vast crowded mansion, where the poor, 
13° 


146 


Rack’d by a hundred vices, daily fall, 

And, in their dying agony, behold 

Coffin and corpse, and know their fate the same! 

Ah! shall my father—can I say it—die? 

I yet receive his frequent letters, fraught 

With fondest love and pious confidence. 

And shall the hand that writes them, write no more? 
Shall others send the black-seal’d note, to tell 

His eyes are closed—his body in the grave? 

And I be parentless? How nature mourns! 

How would I love to break all bonds and raye— 
Rave like a maniac, at a lot like this! 

But grace—all powerful grace—e’en then could swell 
‘My soul with rich enthusiastic hope, 

And lead me through this distant stranger-land 
Light-footed, in expectance of my home! 


THE BIBLE. 


* Heedless of all inferior claims of power, 
Infallible authority I seek ; 

Authority Divine; reveal’d in form 

That Sense may witness. 


Where can this be found? 
Tell, boasting sages! where? That such exists, 
Pale reason, faint with straying, fondly hopes; 
And conscience warrants. 


Sadly may the soal 
Commune with nature ; question winds and waves, 
Woodlands, and wastes, and haunts of busy men, 
In darkness and in sunshine—all is vain: 
Nor multitude nor solitude instructs. 


No radiant lines on earth’s expanse display 

This priceless lore. The meadow’s moisten’d mold 
Soft with bloom-sprinkled growth of fadeless green, 
And dark with fragrant wings of flocking airs, 

Is blank and void. The mountain’s rocky peak, 
Alone because of height, still, pure and cold; 
Bright challenge to an empire’s farthest gaze ; 


148 


What is it, but a nameless monument ?— 

An unmark’d altar, bathed with holiest dews, 
Hung, morn and eve, with shrine of rose and gold, 
But served by seraphs none may see or hear. 


The ample sky in cloudless glory shines: 

Grand, with its solar orb in central pomp; 

Rich, with its fulness of remotest stars; 

Or beauteous with the pale and smiling moon, 
Watching, with matron love, the sleeping sphere. 
But all the golden urns that bless the eye 

With streaming lustre, leave the spirit dark. 


The early angels feel supreme constraint: 

No plume enchants the dawn; and not a tone 
Charms the bland quiet of the sunset air. 

The prophets long have fail’d to lift their voice, 
Seal’d in the silence of forgotten tombs; 

The once-rejected Son is now enthroned ; 
Inspired apostles wake the world no more; 

No more the Spirit, in the inward ear 

Of souls that burn with rapture, breathes its fire— 
Quick thoughts in living language; silent, all 
Old oracles; all silent earth and heaven. 


The Sire himself is mute; nor day nor night, 

In crowded city or in lonely glen, 

By one or millions is His utterance known. 

’Tis most profoundly solemn—this repose 

Of our Creator! All things vocal round, 

Only in Him alive! Himself alone, 

Unheard! Unheard! Our Father’s voice unheard ! 


149 


Where then shall man resort! Where find the law, 
Supreme and universal? One to rule, 
Though violated all on earth beside. 


Behold! a Book! the Bible! Book of Books! 
Take—read—and think. But hold with reverent hand ; 
Regard with reverent eye; with reverent mind, 

Receive its truth. Then press it to thy heart, 

Indulge thy grateful love, and, falling prone 

Before the Essential Presence, bless His name— 
Praise, ever praise for this excelling gift! 


I muse and am amazed. Books, countless books, 
Countless as sands, and leaves, and flowers, and stars, 
Yet here is one to which all else must yield, 

As gems unto the sun—the Book of God! 

Genius draws near, ashamed ; and learning sighs, 
Smitten with conscious folly. 


Man may blow 
A bubble—breath divine creates a world. 
And yet the difference here is greater still ; 
And it were better to destroy a world 
To save a bubble, than destroy this book, 
And let crown’d science reign from pole to pole. 


13* 


A. MAN IN HELL. 


Lost ! lost! forever lost!” 

And as the words 
Startled my wondering soul, I turn’d and saw— 
Walking upon the black and barren shore, 
On which the liquid fire in billows dash’d— 
A form of man; a ruin’d, haggard form, 
With eyes of agony and frowns of woe. 


‘Lost! lost! forever lost!” 
And as he spoke, 
In worse despair he wail’d and gnash’d his teeth. 


“ Tost! lost! forever lost!” 

And the firm tone 
Told that the soul had summon’d all its strength, 
To pour again upon the airy gloom 
The sorrows of imprisonment in hell. 


‘“‘ As the strong wind a moment blows aside 
Yon clouds of smoke, o’erhanging my abode, 
I see afar the earth on which I dwelt. 

Ha! at the sound, again its calm, blue sky, 
Its hills and vales, enrobed in dewy green, 
And its cool, purling waters—aye! its founts, 


15] 


Cold from the rock!—alas! my parchéd tongue! 
- Curst be the power that brings such scenes to view, 
That makes me seem to see, and hear, and taste 
The streams refreshing, while my mouth and throat 
Are dry and hot, and all around is fire, 
And all above is suffocating smoke ! 
No drop comes down—no oozing moisture here 
Dampens the burning soil. How plenty there! 
When slight exertion flush’d my heathful frame, 
The well was at my side, and the full cup 
Supplied my thirst.” 


Again he gnash’d his teeth; 
He wail’d, and as he wail’d he wept—wept tears 
That stood like molten lead drops on his cheeks. 


His voice was heard again :— 
‘Oh! more than fool! 
Mad! mad! deliriously mad! to choose, 
Aye! choose, the path that brought my footsteps here. 
Oh! I remember my dear mother’s tears— 
My father’s prayers—my sister’s loving words— 
The preacher’s warnings, and the Bible’s too— 
And the kind Spirit whispering to my heart! 
But, the world tempted—and I was its slave ; 
My passions prompted—and I was their slave; 
And he that governs here, and suffers most, 
He lied, and I believed—and was his slave! 
And I am lost! lost! lost! forever lost! 
Aha! aha! earth! with thy blue serene— 
And hills and dales in dewy freshness clothed— 
And with thy rippling streams! thy rippling streams ! 
Aha! thy rippling streams! farewell! farewell ! 


152 


And as he cried, a cloud of darkest smoke 
Veil’d from his view his native star-like orb. 


Again he walk’d the shore, with hurried pace, 

And ever and anon he gazed above. 

At length a parting in the clouds was seen, 

Wide in the zenith—and he lifted up 

His aching arm, and pointing to the space, 
‘“‘There—there is heaven! and let it shine! shine on 
Ye gates, and walls, and palaces! wave on 

Ye trees of life, in pleasant breezes wave! 

And flow—ye living waters !—gently flow! 

And bloom, ye banks! in spring immortal bloom! 
Shine! wave! flow! bloom! as now, so evermore! 
There are, of servile soul, unnumber’d hosts, 
Angelic call’d, and sainted, who have bow’d 

In coward homage to the haughty One, § 
To be his minions—to rejoice in heaven. 

But never thus did I—nor would I now, 

Should every angel come with winning voice, 

And tell me, ‘Kneel but once and heaven is thine.’ ”’ 


The lie was spoken, but it brought no peace: 

Th’ undying worm, that to his heart-strings clung, 
More fiercely gnaw’d them ; and the poor wretch writhed, 
Till due confession faltered on his tongue: 


‘Vea, I would bow; but now, alas! alas!. 
Too late! too late! release can ne’er be found— 
For I am lost! lost! lost! forever lost! 


‘But even now my curse is not complete : 
Fain would [ hear these waves forever dash— 
Forever breathe in this sulphureous night— 


153 


Nor know a change.—But oh! the hour will come 
When I must leave these shades, and stand reveal’d 
In all my ruin—in full glare of light— 

Before the judgment seat! while saints shall gaze, 
And angels, and shall tremble as they hear 

The record of my crimes—all—one by one, 

Told to the throng immense! How that I call’d 
God’s word a lie!—the Holy Ghost repulsed! 

And crucified the Son of God afresh! 


‘Ha! shall my tender mother’s tearful eyes, 

My father’s, and my sister’s, see me then? 

Yes, they—array’d in ever-lovely youth, 
White-robed and crown’d with glory fit for heaven, 
Shall see my ghastly form-——black from the pit, 
And foul as hell—a loathsome thing accursed ! 
Aye, they shall see me thus—and catch the sound 
From Jesus’ lips, confirming my sad lot: 

‘ Depart again to everlasting fire!’ 

And [—the reprobate of all; a lost, 

An outcast soul; joyless, unclean, abhorr’d, 

Shall come—with songs of angels, sights of bliss 
Thronging my mind—to meditate with grief, 
Upon the broad disgrace stamp’d on my soul, 
Full in the view of the whole universe! 

Shall come to bear the gnawings of this worm— 
The burning of these flames—the agony 

Of a soul used to hope, that cannot now 

Conceive a moment in eternity 


Of joy or ease.” 


And as he spoke, he shook 
With woe unknown to words; but, as he shook 
He still exclaim’d: “Lost! Lost! rorEVER Lost’ 


THE MOMENT OF DEATH. 


Tis awfully sublime! Behold her form, 

How weak and thin—almost a skeleton! 

Her lips are pale, her brow and cheeks are white 
As the new-fallen snow, and shine like pearl. 
Her finest temple veins are visible 

In all their violent outlines; her dark hair 

Is sadly smooth and glossy; and her eyes, 

Her full clear eyes are gloriously bright. 

Her hour has come. And yet how sweetly calm! 
Think not her love has perish’d, for it burns 
Upon its holy altar, with a flame 

Purer than ever; and the weepers here 

Are they who kindled it. That trembling one 
Is her fond partner, and his wounded heart 
Throbs with a pain his trembling cannot tell,— 
Sharp, strong, deep, dreadful—aye, unspeakable ! 
And this, in bud-like beauty innocent, 

This is the babe she nursed upon her breast, 
And kiss’d a thousand times, while in her arms 
Asleep it lay with seraph dreams and smiles. 
But she has given her loved ones to her God, 
Who gave them first to her; and she is God’s, 
And therefore hath she now such perfect peace! 


155 


Oh! ’tis a strange, and yet a blessed thing, 
Thus to await the moment of her death! 
See how her bright eye wanders round the room 
Gazing by turns on each familiar face, 
And then looks up and flashes, as she saw 
Some angel herald of her coming Lord! 
Mysterious ties are gently loosening now— 
The bonds of flesh and spirit; slow unfold 
The soul’s immortal wings, strong with desire 
To soar above the stars and wave in heaven. 
Earth must grow dim and shadowy, as the light 
Of glory, dawns, and gleams, and shines around; 
And things of wonder now begin to throng 
Upon her inward vision! Yet she breathes 
Softly as ever, and hath not one fear ! 
But look—her eyes—oh how intensely bright! 
Her smile—how like an angel’s!—and her hands, 
They wave!—they wave!—and hark! her whispering 

voice— 

‘Tis Jesus! Jesus!” 


She is with the Lord! 


UNCHECKED VERSE. 


INSCRIBED TO DR. G. B.—THE AUTHOR’S MOST INTIMATE FRIEND. 


Let no accusing spirit vex my soul, 

As though it were reluctant to its task. 

*Tis more than willing—passionately burns 

With quenchless ardor in its high emprise. 

But, as a giant—who, in weight of mail 

Full clad, would leap to hear some martial strain, 
And swing his sword, and smite his sounding shield, 
Light as a love-lass, lifted by a lute— 

Shall yet be helpless in the narrow grasp 

Of wrist and ankle fetters, lock’d and left: 

So, by these fleshly bonds, the mightier soul, 
Chafed and enfeebled, scorns them, and yet yields. 


What!—coldly breathed, then madly shouted wild; 
What!—shrieks the offspring of eternity ; 

Shall thus the nature that aspires to heaven; 

That now, in vivid vision, crown’d with stars, 
Wielding the comet as its flaming blade, 

Bearing before its heart the silver moon, 
Foot-wing’d with lightning,—lo! on eohoins ayant 
Strides in full pomp,—the mystery of Power! 

Shall such a nature shrink within the guise 

Of this soft sense, victim of fire and frost, 


157 


Thrilling with threatenings of disease and death,— 
And, baffled in its most sublime attempts, 

Pine, all uneasy, in its May-day home; 

Wander, as restless, mong its fellows’ homes; 
Return, through sun and shade, and still pine on; 
Half frenzied that its pinions want their plumes, 
And, mocking all its efforts, cannot soar? 


God only knows me! Startling verity! 

My fellows are not witless of my name; 

My friends, my fault of frankness fondly praise; 
My father’s memory holds my first hour’s breath; 
My wife laughs out, assured she knows me well; 
My children turn their quiet eyes on mine, 

And witch me with my own identity; 

But still my spirit, in its inner cell, 

’Bides undiscover’d: like a hermit, looks 

From cavernous shadows where none else intrudes, 
Calm on the open sunshine of the world. 

I call to them: I tell them where I am, 

And what I am; yet still they know me not. 
Spirits there are, which I have never known, 

Do they know me? Angels, of other worlds; 
And men, of other ages; do they see 

The secrets of my being! Tiends from hell, 

Can they in-penetrate my inmost heart? 

Spirits of loved ones—outwardly well known, 
Now disembodied—know me better they, 

Now, than of old? See they the fiery pulse 

Of thought and passion flashing through my soul? 
Oft have I fancied thus, and since they left 

The precincts of our union, been constrain’d 


To holier walk to keep their purer love. 
14 


158 


But this is doubtful. Nay, with rising faith, 

I dare assert eternal solitude! | 

Save to the eye of Him whose glance of light 
Streams through me, as the slant and subtle sun, 
Shoots beams innumerous through a drop of rain.* 


But He alone! 

O solemn, searching truth! 
Outward communion hath its countless hosts, 
Hach, still, an inward stranger to his peers! 
The conscious quickness known to One alone, 
One in the universe! To One alone,— 
One, for eternity! But He!—O bliss! 
The Good! The Infinite Spirit! Life of life! 
Thought of all thoughts! Passion of passions! All, 
In all! The Truth of truths! The Love of loves! 
Holy of holies! Joy of joys!—My God! 


He knows me. All my sin, and all my woe; 

My penitence, my faith, my hope, my love; 

My faculties, facilities, and works; 

Opinions, fancies, feelings—clear and vague; 
However dark to me, to Him like noon! 

Knows me, all times, all places, all estates ; 

Day, night; home, far; sick, well; glad or distress’d; 
Knows in all changes—wholly—evermore! 


I know not Him. I’ve heard His reverend name, 
Heard His high attributes, and seen His works ; 
And bow’d before Him, as the Soul of souls; 

And call’d upon Him, as my only Hope; 


* Suggested, I suppose, by a similar thought, in Bowring’s Translation of 
Derzhavin’s Ode to the Deity. 


159 


And loved Him as my Father and my Friend : 

But more I may not—He is known to none! 

I—next to Him, as known to Him alone! 
He—everywhere, in all immensity ! 

And everywhere, to all eternity! 

Round all and in all—Breath—Pulse—Mind of all— 
Unseen, Unheard, Unfelt, Unsearchable! 


Father of spirits! All good! All glorious! 
Hear the lone prayer, of this poor panting heart! 
Bless me! Even me! O Father !—bless Thy child! 
In life, in death; on earth, in heaven; in time, 
And in eternity ; alone, with else; 

Gay, or in grief; or safe, or girt with harms; 
Still, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost—One God! 
Still let Thy vital blessing on me rest: 

Its light and warmth so filling all my soul, 
That, one with Thee, [ evermore may dwell 

In Thee, and Thee in me—a sinful man, 


Redeem’d and happy in the living God. 


INDULGENCE. 


Disease relents. The mind awakes. Versification isan amusement. Ide- 
ality acts wildly, but easily; and is permitted to act wildly, because it acts 
easily. Yet it is difficult afterward to reduce the chaos to order. But I con- 
sent to the effort. 


As, in the seeming close of this dull spell, 

My subtlest powers are weary-worn and sad ; 

I turn to Thee—O Form of Fadeless Youth! 
Thou of the brightest eye and sweetest voice! 
First, fairest, loveliest charmer of my life! 
Ideal Seraph !—turn to Thee, and seek 

The thought and passion of Thy glorious song! 


Thine, all the heaven of truth—clear, cold, pure, bright! 
Thine, all the earth of love,—flower’d, fruitful, warm! 
Thine! Angel on the Sun-throne of the soul! 


Bereft of thee, with heaven of night and mist, 

Truth swells its unseen amplitude in vain; 

While love’s chill’d sphere its ripening vintage checks, 
Dewy and drooping with infolded bloom. 

But when the still, live glory of thine orb 

Dawns, shines, burns, blazes, in our spirit’s morn; 
Then early eagles gleam, aloft, alone; 

Far-floating in the illimitable void ; 


161 


And flash, like swiftest wings from sinless worlds, 
White, cliff-cast torrents, down a thousand vales! 
Or, so the vast of mind, disclosed, expands ; 

And noblest thoughts in highest regions soar : 
So, all the heart awakes ; hope’s mountains glow: 
Glistening, deep leap the holiest streams of joy ; 
Fruits feel the flush on all the hills of faith ; 
‘Soft from devotion’s groves sweet voices breathe ; 
And fragrance fills the violet vales of peace. 


O Seraph of the Sun! thus centre-throned, 

Lord of two worlds!—not only downward beams 
Thy glory,—though the common eye is blind; 
But, if such symbol thou wilt deign to know, 

As some great diamond globe, with inner fire 
Unshaded and most radiant in its flame, 

Lights not alone the temple’s tearful floor, 

But scenes of bliss all round the pictured dome: 
So, to the saintly vision, upward shine, 

By smoke and cloud untouch’d, thy purest rays— 
As if with spirit-thought to see their God, 

And spread their poor, pale tribute at His feet. 
Feebler than moth’s the mightiest eagle’s wing; 
Darker than mole’s, the brightest eagle’s eye; 
Compared to mine, companion of thy flight ! 
Disdain my pinions rest in earthly shades, 

And faint not when they wave above thy fires ; 
The earth hath all its orbit in my glance, 

The near sun mildly beams as distant moon,, 
And flames undazzling all the heaven of heavens. 


Sun Seraph ! thus I vaunt me of thy power— 


Instantly prompt and infinitely full. 
(14* 


162 


I fear to ask thee for the least relief, 
For, soon as ask’d, creation hears thy voice 
And hastes to offer its exhaustless stores. 


If I but sigh to see the world so drear, 
Thou puttest to mine eye a little prism, 
And cloudless sunbows color all the sphere. 


I hear of heaven and long to see its bliss: 
And all the stars whirl by me like a dream, 
And sink, still whirling, far beneath my feet, 
Till all their circles close in one, and that 
Concentres to a point, and that is lost. 

And round and round-me breathe such living airs; 
And in my very heart such music rings; 

And on my sight such boundless glory breaks, 
Burning and burning, evermore to burn ; 
That soon, as though immensity had pour’d 
Its focal splendor on my soul alone, 

And there eternity retain’d its power, 

I fold my plumes, but find no gloom within, 
And falling prone, lie trembling and adore. 


Yet, while my body yields to these dull pains, 
I win a pleasure in this wild escape 

Of the tired spirit, and may not in vain 

List to the rustling of its wayward flight, ~ 
Thus sporting, though more idly than a bird: 
For, sometime will the precincts of the cage, 
Be lone and still—and all the dream be real! 


THE PLEASANT SURPRISE. 


AN IMPROMPTU SKETCH OF A TRIFLING INCIDENT. 


od 


Awhile ago, I went across the street, 
To see the carpenter. 
His day’s work done, 
Chatting with two companions, with his coat 
Hung on his arm, he sat upon a chest, 
In seeming gladness of the sunset hour. 


I show’d my draft; explain’d my little plan ;— 
Little, though link’d with worlds—and then return’d. 


But, as I came, my lifted vision caught 
An unexpected, unexceeded charm! 
Though westward glancing, it was not the sun, 
Or sun-lit cloud, or golden-azure air; 
But nearer beauty that surprised my heart: 
Two windows-full of faces—all my own! 
Some one, perhaps, first saw me cross the street; 
And eall’d the others. Quick, the living group 
Gather’d to see their father. Well they laughed: 
I, too, sedately, smiled. The straitest face, 
Had lost its straitness, then. 

From motherly arms, 
Our youngest daughter, fatling Emily, 


164 


Look’d down in wonder. Pale Matilda, too; 

Anna Maria; Mary; Tom; and John: 

All,—save our first-born, with my mother’s name; 
And last-born, with my father’s; these, it seems, 
Were elsewhere; she, her brother’s fondling nurse— 
All eager stood, with downward sparkling eyes, 

And open mouths, still laughing, as ’the sport 

Were something rich: at any rate, for one, 

I look’d and smiled, and felt that Zwas rich— 

And so Tam! God bless my humble home! 


WASHINGTON AT PRAYER. 


Silence was on her throne—the moon and stars, 
Hush’d by her lifted sceptre, softly walk’d 
Their azure pathway; and the quiet earth, 
Had not a rustling leaf, for the lull’d winds 
Slept in the hill-side shadows, and the trees 
Lean’d o’er their images, all dark and still, 
In deep unruffled waters. 


There were tents, 
White in the mellow moonlight; where a host 
Of weary warriors lay in such repose, 
As though the camp had been a field of tombs, 
And all the host were mouldering. Here and there 
The arméd sentinel paced to and fro, 
Or wondering at the beauty of the scene, 
Or, musing on the future, gazing sad 
Upon his shadow, feeling that his life 
Was transient likewise, and would disappear 
In the night of death, as disappear’d the shade 
When the moon darken’d and the passing mist 
Made all its outlines blend in fellow gloom. 
The instruments of battle, fraught no more 
With human vengeance, lay as harmlessly 
As when they slumber’d in their native hills— 


166 


Untaught to thunder and unstain’d with blood. 
The banner that had waved o’er fields of slain, 
Was now its bearer’s pillow, and he dream’d 
With his head resting on rent folds, of love, 
And fireside peace, and female tenderness. 


That sleeping host concentred in itself 

The hopes of a wide world. Fell Tyranny— 

The fiend grown gray in shortening human life, 
Who joys the most when joys mankind the least, 
And scourges most who lowliest submit,— 

fad spread his sails and push’d his giant prow 
From a far isle, and o’er the trembling sea 

Pursued his scornful course, and, landing proud 
Upon this mighty continent, had call’d 

The nation to approach, and kiss his rod. 

His helm was like a mountain, and his plume 
Gloom’d like a cloud; his lifted sword far shone— 
A threat’ning comet; loud his thunder voice 
Demanded death or crouching; and his stamp 
Shook the firm hills and made the whole earth reel. 
Many had gone—led by the hand of Fear— 

And knelt unto the monster, kiss’d his rod, 

And pointed at their brethren’s breasts their swords. 
But these had seized their weapons, and stood up, 
E’en in his very shadow, and his threats 

Answer’d like men, and rang their shields for war. — 
But hitherto these valiant ones had fail’d 

In the fierce conflict; and in rest were now 
Waiting the morrow, and a deadlier shock. 


But One was watchful in that silent hour, 
Whose heart had gather’d to itself the cares 


167 


Of all his struggling brethren, and was sad 
That still Success was herald to the fiend. 

Out from his tent he came, and when he heard 
No sound, he joy’d to think that woe had not 
So heavily press’d upon the sleepers’ hearts 

As on his own; and then he felt a weight 

Still heavier fall upon himself, as thought 
Pictured the thousands trusting in his arm: 
The slumberers round—the nation’s agéd ones, 
Whose dim eyes ceaseless wept o’er scenes of blood— 
The mourning widows, clasping to their breasts 
Their famish’d infants—and the virgins pale, 
Bereft of love, and in the arms of lust 

Dying a thousand deaths! 


On the bare earth, 
He knelt, in suppliance meek ; and humbly laid 
Beside him, his plumed helmet, and his sword, 
Unsheath’d and glittering, and ask’d of God 
To look on him, all helpless, and to bless 
His nerveless arm with might and victory; 
To smile on his worn warriors, and infuse 
Spirit and fire in every languid pulse ; 
To frown upon the tyrant, and destroy ; 
And bid the mountains sing from pole to pole 
The song of liberty, and the free waves 
Clap their glad hands and answer from afar. 


God heard and answer’d; and the Spirit of strength 
Walk’d in the camp, from tent to tent, and breathed 
An iron vigor through the sleepers’ frames, 

And in their hearts a courage ne’er to quail. 

And Weakness sought the valley where the foe, 


168 


Pillow’d upon a hill, stretch’d his huge length 

In cumbrous slumber; and his giant limbs 

Grew soft as babe’s; while Mockery soothed his soul 
With dreams of speedy triumph and rich spoil. 

And Truth came down, and charm’d the suppliant 
With pious of dele cen soon to be. 

And o’er the mountain-top came young Success: 
The sentry had not hail’d her as she pass’d, 

But shut his eyes in fright, and thought he saw 

A ghost, nor dream’d that she could leave the fiend. 
Washington rose in peace, replaced his helm } 
Upon his brow, and sheath’d his glittering sword, 
And felt a power was on him none could stay! 


Oh! I have read of chieftains who call’d out 
Their banner’d multitudes, and circled round 
The noon-day altar, and anon looked up: 
While the white-bearded priest plunged deep the knife 
In fellow flesh, and bathed himself in gore, 
To appease the gods and gain celestial aid! 
And I have read of armies front to front, 
Pausing in awful silence, with the match 
Blazing o’er loaded cannon, and bright swords 
Flashing in vengeful hands; while solemnly 
Uncoyer’d chaplains bow’d between the foes, 
And pour’d their mingling prayers—ere Death began 
His sacrifice unto the Prince of hell! | 
But this was gilded seeming ; a mere show 
To warm the vassal soldiers to high thoughts, 
And make them glow for carnage—not for right. 
"Twas mumbling prayer to God, with lips profane, 
While their hearts wish’d the answer of a shout 
From the excited ranks—the cry for blood. 


169 


They look’d upon their warriors, as their dogs 
Are look’d upon by sportsmen; and they hoped 
Such solemn mockeries might their men inspire, 
As gentle pattings fire the unloosed hound: 

And all their plan was but to curb their rage 
Till it grew fierce, then burst the bands and urge 
The hosts to slaughter! 


Pure Sincerity 

Delights to kneel in solitude, and feels 
God’s presence most where none but God beholds. 
And when [ think of our high-hearted chief 
Watching while others slept—swelling his soul 
To sympathize with thousands, yea, to care 
For others’ cares, while by themselves forgot; 
Joying to find Repose had quieted 
The tents of all around, yet keeping far 
Her presence from his own; and when [ think 
Of his divestment of self-strength, and deep 
And fervent longing for Almighty aid— 
I feel as if Sincerity did smile 
Upon that hour, and name it in her joy 
The Eden of duration! purest page 
In the truth-written history of time ! 
Surely that quiet scene was fraught with life, 
And circling angels wonder’d while they heard 
The hero’s soul expressing secretly, 
And sacredly, before the all-seeing God, 
No care, no wish, but for his country’s pace | 
And fonder’ d eas they wonder’d not that God 
Should sanctify the life-destroying sword: 
For ’twas thy sword, O sainted Washington! 

15 


THE GENIUS OF POETRY. 


Oh that the glowing feelings of my heart 

Could find a fitting voice—an utterance 

To thrill the listener with due sympathy! 
Then should th’ indignant. numbers roll severe, 
And with uncustom’d tones alarm the souls 

Of thousands, tampering with the sacred lyre! 


My spirit burns with patriot love intense, 

And swells with rapture, when the power of song 
Loud from a native harp sends forth its spell; 
But anger chafes me, when I hear the strains 

Of puling sentimentalists, who vex 

Their silken strings with touch so delicate, 

That, but for empty echoists, the ear 

Of silence scarce would vibrate to the sound. 
Mere grasshoppers of poetry! they chirp 

The livelong day, upon the birth and growth 

Of a poor blade of grass; and long discourse 
Upon the freshness of a morning dew-drop! 
Their narrow sight, as narrow as their souls, 
Feels no extension, never circuits round 

The flowery verdancy, hills, oceans, skies ; 

Nor once beholds th’ innumerous “shining ones,” 
That look from far upon their sister earth. 


171 
The eagle, from his eyry in the clouds, 
Waves his wide wings, and, soaring to the sun, 
Gazes with unblench’d eye upon the blaze, 
And, bathing there his plumes in golden light, 
Scarce deigns a glance towards the speck beneath. 
But they, like worms, in the heart of a red bud 
Alone delight; and leave it not, until 
Their poisonous slime has wither’d its young bloom! 


- 


Genius of Poetry! ere time began, 

The ear of space delighted in thy harp! 

In some far region of immensity, 

Where the first ray of light created gleam’d 
Through utter darkness, thou wast call’d to being. 
Then in thy hand was placed the holy harp, 

And the awful voice of the Hternal Sire 

Bade thee extol omnipotence and love; 

Waken dull silence to sweet harmony, 

And lead the joys of myriad new-born souls. 

Loud as thy numbers roll’d, the golden spheres 
Moved to the music, wond’ring at the charm! 
’Twas then the laurel, of immortal green, 

Bloom’d round thy brow, and joy ineffable 

Burn’d in thy heart, and swell’d thy voice sublime. 
When earth came forth in glorious array, 

With flowery vales, and hills, and waters clear; 
And overhung with azure, whence the sun 
Effuses rich benevolence on all; 

And where the nightly stars with ardent beams 
Shine round the moon, like seraphs round the throne; 
Then sang the sons of heaven, the morning stars, 
Concerting with thy harmony, and space 

Awoke her countless echoes, to prolong 

The birth-ode of the new-created orb. 


172 


’T was thou, that—from the altar of high heaven 
Bearing a living coal—the prophet’s lips 
Touch’d with the sacred fire, hallow’d his heart, 
And bade his tongue reveal the thoughts of God. 
*Twas thou that tuned the Grecian voice to song. 
And charm’d Italian skies with melody. 

"Twas thou that came so sweetly from above, 

To the shepherd watch on Judah’s moonlit hills, 
While wonder pointed to the starry crown, 

That glisten’d o’er the huts of Bethlehem! 
"Twas thou that pour’d on Milton’s shaded mind 
Light from eternity, and gave him power 

To vocalize the wonders that he saw: 

The deathless horrors of all-writhing hell, 

The undying glories of rejoicing heaven. 


Genius of Poetry! thou noblest born! 

Thy themes are as thy joys, rich and sublime. 
Creation is thy range; where’er a star 

Sends forth a ray, thy wing is wont to fly. 
And oft, where never roll’d an orb, away 

Tn solitary, unillumined gloom, 

Thou holdest high communion with thy God. 
His omnipresent power and tender love, 
Delight thy musing moments; and thy harp 
Is richest and most eloquent in praise. 

Thy quick perception gladdens in events, 

To others hid; thou knowest sounds and views 
Unheard, unnoticed by the grosser-born. 
Where’er thy pinions wave, new pleasures rise 
Sweet in thy breast, and eye, and ear, and all 
Thy ravish’d senses wonder and admire. 

The music of the spheres is heard by thee, 
And angels ne’er may know its richest tones, 


173 


Delighting thee; thou see’st a purer light 
In every beam, than falls on other eyes; 
Colors have finer shades than others sce, 
By thee perceived, and when the thunder speaks 
Loud from his midnight throne, thou dost discern _ 
An import and a tone none else may know: 
And in the lightning flash thou see’st a glance, 
That else who once beholds shall surely die! 
Does Beauty claim thine eye? a fairer bloom, 
More lovely grace, and look of sweeter power, 
Voice more melodious, bosom holier, 
Tis thine to know, than aught beside create, 
Can ever find: the azure of the sky, 
The green of earth are fresher to thy view; 
The flowers put on a lighter tint; the brooks, 
A lucid quiet, known to none beside! 
Does Grandeur e¢all thee? Lo! the boundless scene 
Glows with a living spirit; and thy heart 
Swells with expanding rapture, high and wild, 
And unexpress’d, save in thy thrilling song. 
The agéd forest bows his hoary head, 
In reverence, and waves his trembling arms 
On high, to hail thy coming to his shades. 
The mountains loftier lift their lofty heads, 
And stand like giants guarding the sweet vales 
Of humble peace, from the demoniac storm. 
The seas explain to thee their mysteries ; 
Yor thee the blue heavens cast their veil aside, 
And sun, and moon, and stars come near, and show, 
Unto thy favor’d eye their wondrous things. 
Does Novelty attract thee? things more strange 
Appear in things the strangest, and a power 
Alike peculiar, wonders in thy sight. 

15* 


174 


The clouds assume all hostile forms, and wage 
Celestial warfare; meteors on swift wing 

Bear to the Prince of hell tidings of earth; 

And comets, issuing from the eternal throne 

To see if earth’s iniquity is full, 

Wave wide the threat’ning sword,—the startled sky 
Shrinks from the horrid light, and pales with fear. 
Earth listens, motionless, expecting still 

The thunder of Destruction’s chariot wheels: 

And Time throws down his scythe, crushes his glass, 
And, trembling, waits th’ archangel’s dooming voice ! 


Genius of Poetry! thine eye is bright, 

Thy song is but begun! Thou, who beheld 
And sang the birth of every orb that shines, 
Shall yet behold them desolate, and sing 

Their requiem, when no echo will survive 

To answer thy lament! Then night, restored, 
Shall soon forget that day usurp’d her throne— 
And dwell in deeper darkness than was known, 
Before a ray gleam’d trembling through the void. 
Then shall a new creation, brighter far 

Than even thou can’st image, ask thy song: 

To celebrate a bloom to wither never, 

A beauty still to be more beautiful, 

A grandeur ever growing more sublime, 

A newness ever changing, and a joy 

Immortal as the ever-living God! 


MELANCHOLY. 


Again I vent my plaint—my troubled heart 
Will pour its sorrows through the lines of verse. 
Yet, verse is all too feeble to convey 

My inward feelings. Vainly must my pen 
Essay in words to tell my bitter anguish. 

Ha! could I speak my woes, the hardest heart 
Would melt with pity; and the dryest eyes 
Pour forth unceasing tears: for then, indeed, 
Language would be but pathos. But, alas! 
They are too big for utterance: hollow cheeks, 
And sunken eyes, and livid lips; my feet 
Tott’ring beneath their load; my bended form, 
Inclining to the grave; and all the signs 

That haggard misery stamps upon her prey, 
Reveal but slightly that which gnaws my heart. 


I’ve looked on nature, and have look’d in vain, 
To find some emblem of my wretchedness. 


I’ve thought a clouded star—one wholly pall’d 
In blackest. night, and wandering all alone 
And useless; privileged no more to catch 

The kindred smilings of the unclouded host; 
Or glance its lustre on the waveless lake, 


176 


That loved to hold its image in its bosom ; 

A star involved in tenfold midnight darkness— 
Might picture somewhat of the loneliness, 

The desolate cheerlessness that I endure. 


Oft memory tells me of a tender bird, 

Driven by tempests, till its wearied wings 

Could scarce expand. Then, gradually the storm, 
. Relenting into kindness, died away ; 

And the dark parted clouds far offward roll’d, 
And the bright sunshine broke upon the earth, 
And all things glisten’d in the glorious change. 
Then, sinking gently towards the blooming earth, 
The gladsome bird pour’d forth its gratitude, 

In sweetest melody, as though each throb 

Of its reviving heart declared its joy. 

But, suddenly, ere yet its weary wing 

Had closed within its nest, the gathering storm 
Again returning, fiercer than before, 

Whirl’d it away in breathlessness to gasp 

Its life out on the bosom of despair! 

I’ve thought my fate has likeness to this bird’s, 
But still I show not half its bitterness. 


I often muse upon the happiness 

That gladdens my coevals: they go forth, 

And gaze upon the azure-cinctured arch, 

With feelings peaceful as the placid heavens; 
They look around upon the blooming earth, 
All redolent with beauty and delight; 

They see the ocean sparkling in its joy, 

And smiling on the sun; they see the rivers, 
Winding their glorious way among the bowers; 


177 


They hear the woodland music, every breeze 
Alive with harmony; they see the lambs, 
Disporting on the mead; and the mild deer, 
Viewing his antlers in the forest lake; 

The squirrel chattering on the top-most oak, 
And laughing at the wind that shakes the limb 
It clings to; and the quick-ear’d innocent rabbit, 
Sipping the morning dew, its only drink: 

They see all nature’s pleasantness, and feel 
Their hearts to dance with rapture at the sight. 


But I partake not of the general joy! 

I see, and with a quicken’d eye, the charms 

That bloom and breathe around me; but my heart,— 
The heart that once was raptured with such views, 
That warm’d, dilated, thrill’d and seem’d to wish 

A thousand voices to express its bliss— 

Is sicken’d with them now; for still arise, 

Dismal forebodings that the lovely flowers, 

Which seem so fragile, shall myself outlive, 

And when they wither, drop their faded leaves, 
Like emblems, on my grave; the trees shall spread 
Their shrivell’d foliage o’er me, and the winds 

In sadness sigh amongst the echoing reeds 

That autumn’s blight shall stiffen on my bed! 

And who can think, without a pang severe, 

Of bidding to the world the long adieu? 

Forests and gardens, with their tribes of life; 

The hills and dales; oceans, and all their streams; 
The glowing sun, blue heavens, and moon, and stars; 
And man, with all his works, towers, towns and navies, 
His music, paintings, sculptures, and his lore: 

Ah! what are these to those who sleep in death ? 


178 


And can it be that all we love below, 

Shall be forsaken with nor tear nor sigh? 
Even I, though lost to all earth’s loveliness, 
And weeping o’er its beauty, fain would weep 
A little longer; and in memory think, 

That what is now so powerless to yield 

One momentary pleasure, once was all 

That young imaginations picture joy. 

Yea, I would linger here, for still I find, 
That sorrow hath a charm to make me cling 
To life, even though I still must sorrow on. 


I am a helpless shipwrecked mariner: 

Lone on a plank, and midway in the bay, 

Fast rushing to the ocean. I behold . 
The shores in bloom, with fruitage clustering thick. 
Isee the far off cottage, and espy, 

H’en walking on the beach, my fellow-man. 

And yet, I can nor signal to the shore, 

Nor leave this sole support; and every wave 

Still farther sweeps me tow’rd the boundless waste! 
Where is my hope? I now can but resign 
Myself unto the will of Him, whose eye 

Beholds my imminent wretchedness; and still, 
Though swiftly hurrying from the sight of all 
That seems a rest for hope, some passing barque 
May see my floating form, and yet deliver. 

If not, I sink: if this my fate must be, 

I'll welcome it with smilings, and will yield 

My way-worn body to the monster’s maw; 

Sure that my God will guide him to some isle, 
Bright on the bosom of eternity— 

And make destruction land me safe from harm! 


DEATH. 


WRITTEN ON THE DECEASE OF THE REY. 8. DOUGHTY. 


IN THREE PARTS. 


BAT Gal: 
The House of Mourning. 


I stand beside the coffin, and behold 
The soulless frame of man. My swelling heart 
Aches in its narrow limits, and mine eyes 
Grow dim with sorrow. 

What! oh, what, is man! 
He goeth forth, and death is in the way; 
He fain would turn aside and walk with life; 
But this may not. He fain would shut his ear 
Unto the messenger’s voice, and heed him not; 
But in his inmost heart an echo wakes 
At the unearthly call, and the warm blood 
Runs chill through every vein, the vital fount 
Congeals to icy coldness, and the soul 
Loosens its ties, expands its trembling wings, 
And seeks the bosom of eternity! 


The mould of manliness is there ; those eyes— 
Which, once beheld, may never be forgot,— 
Are closed upon for their long dreamless sleep. 
And oh! to think that all he once admired 

Is gone forever; ocean, earth, sky, sun, 


180 


And all the host led nightly by the moon! 
To think that all earth’s music shall be heard 
Never !—that all the lore of bard and sage 

Is not!—that every friend of glowing heart, 
Kindred and offspring are, alas! no more! 

I must not, dare not think—Oh! death! death! death! - 


PART OU. 
Song of the Angels as they bear the Spirit to Paradise. 


We come! we come! the sapphire gates throw wide 
Cherub and Seraph! Glory’s hierarchy! 

Burning around the everlasting throne, 

Hymn the Eternal’s praise! Space! spread the sound 
Far as infinity! sphere shout to sphere! 

And orb to orb! We come! we come! we bear 

The parted spirit, in ecstatic trance, 

Now waiting for its Maker’s touch divine, 

To strengthen vision for the charms of heaven! 

We bow! we bow! Father Omnipotent! 

And here present our charge; whom there we found 
Rejoicing in thy Omnipresent love! 


PART III. 
Soliloquy of the Saint. 


Tama Spirit! The mystery is out: 

And, like an eagle from its prison fled, 

I feel the freedom of infinity! 

Desire is now accomplishment: I look, 
With keener sight than mortal eye extends, 
All round immensity; whose only bound 


181 


Is far off darkness—on whose bosom shines 
Innumerous stars—darkness that none may near! 

I look, and wish—and lo! upon this globe, 

Which, when I wish’d, was glimmering on my sight, 
I stand, and view a world of larger frame 

Than is the sun; which on yon atom earth, 

I thought with awe the hugest orb of space! 

How swells my new existence! Yet I think, 

Even as on earth I thought! I am the same. 

I joy in mine identity, and can 

At will remember all I ever knew: 

Yet, without pain! How dwells my ravish’d being 
On all the beauties circling round my gaze ! 

The novelties of unimagined scenes! 

The high sublimities of boundlessness ! 

Oh! how I joy! As thought to thought succeeds, 
Still greater swells my soul; nor can I know 

A thought inferior to what now I think; 

Nay, each succeeding thought superior grows, 

And with fresh knowledge and with stronger power. 


How mean are all the thoughts of mortal man! 
Repress’d and bound by limits so confined. 
There did I toil, to know the history 

Of one small globe, for some few thousand years ; 
While here I grow in all the intelligence 

Of worlds magnificent, to which the earth, 

In age, is less than infant to gray hairs; 

Of worlds innumerous, to which the stars, 
That studded earth’s empyrean and enzoned, 
Are as a unit to infinity ! 

There travell’d I for some few thousand miles, 
Saw various scenes, and read of many more ; 


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182 


And thought the earth too vast, for one poor mind 
To treasure all its aspects: here, I fly 

From orb to orb untired, and dwell with joy 
On scenes to which e’en Eden was a heath; 
And feel that countless worlds of larger sphere, 
Shall in duration come familiarly, | 
As favorite bowers, into my memory ; 

And every nook be known, in every orb 

That shines throughout immensity; until 

I feel that space is my eternal home, 

And all its glories are to me distinct, 

As the few rooms in my once earthly home! 
There I enjoy’d the presence of a few, 

Whom I entitled friends; and some I pass’d 
With a slight word, as though my narrow heart 
Could hold small part of earth’s small company ; 
But, here are myriads after myriads more 

Than mortals in a life-time could conceive! 

Yet shall each one in this stupendous host, 
Become my bosom friend, ere yet I feel 

One proper notion of eternity ! 


And here, oh! how my reverent thought delights 
To muse upon the Holy One Supreme ! 

Men on the earth, out from the city’s throng 
Betake themselves, and in some shadowy dell, 
With flowers and vines embower’d and adorn’d, 
Think to immure themselves in solitude! 

And this, when every voice of bird and leaf, 
Of flower and vine, and cooling water-brook, 
Whispers the presence of the Mighty One; 
Whose omnipresent, all-sustaining power 

A leaf depends on, even as a world! 


183 


How glows my being, how with rapture thrills, 
When glad I think—there is no solitude! 

But, far beyond where angel wing has been, 
Should I pursue my way; and find an orb 
Greater in glory and in wonders newer 

Than any yet I know; there would be God, 
Even as in highest heaven—even on His throne! 
And there could I adore; and there could learn 
Of all I saw, the history and design! 


Oh ! hallelujah! Let each heavenly power 

Exalt the Maker’s praise! Here, here indeed, 

Is music of the spheres—when every orb 

Sounds harmony divine! Here, here indeed, 

Are views sublime, more than the warmest tongue 
In heaven can tell! Here, happiness supreme, 
Common and endless; oh, how great! how great! 


Oh! could my boy, my darling boy, behold 

His father’s high felicity; could they, 

My kindred and my friends, my glory see; 

How would they dry their eyes, and on bent knee, 
Give praise unto the Eternal, and beseech 

The guidance of His Spirit to lead them on 

To the same heayen—the happiness of God! 


WILLIAM KESLEY. 


Hope flies! 

And round the dim and dewy scene, 
Stalks stalwart Fear, vaunting his prophet-skill :— 
“‘T saw the hand that touch’d that ample brow, 
And thence foretold this pale and sad event! 
True, many angels pleaded for his life; 
Some, that his short and compact frame was strong, 
As if a youth’s, to bear yet heavier years; 
Some, that his mind, matured and well-inform’d, 
In facile power still held its varied gifts; 
Some, that his heart, well tried of old and true, 
Girew purer and was richer in its love; . 
While others, turning gently from the man, 
Pointed, with trembling fingers, to.a group 
Whose home-prayers gush’d in eloquence of tears; 
And others, with their vision on the church, 
Spake of his wisdom and her constant need, 
His faith, his zeal, his courage, and his toils; 
And phate by a wider, nobler range, 
The common church—nay, more, ine common world! 
But all their pleas were vain. Et alone, 
Foresaw, foretold,—by. day and night, foretold, 
Through every change, foretold—the end is death! 


185 


And lo! the truth! How pale, cold, silent now! 
Form, mind, heart, home, church, world, unheeded, all. 
Naught now remains but soon the grave must hide.”’ 


Hope fled! . 

But whither? Far beyond the range, 
Where fear may triumph! Fear is like the night, 
Karth-born and bound to earth; but sunny Hope 
Is here a guest whose native sphere is heaven. 
There straight she fled, nor with a lonely flight. 
Fear strode beside the corpse, with shade athwart; 
But wiser Hope, with birth-right more sublime, 
Ascended with the spirit. Why remain? 
To see the gathering darkness of decay? 
To hear the widow’s wail, the orphan’s cry? 
To look on altars hung with funeral crape? 
And mourn the last heart-rendings of the grave? 
We soar, sings Hope, still soaring as she sings— 
The soul, aside, all thrilling with the song. 
We soar—and all the little things of earth, 
Are lost, already; nay, the earth itself 


Dwindles into a star—and disappears. 
‘We soar—with God’s infinity around! . 
We soar—with God himself our Life of lives! 
Serene, O soul! serene! be all serene! 
What! does the light transpierce thee? let it shine— 
’T will glorify thee, as the sun a gem! 
What! does the music awe thee? let it sound,— 
The name of Jesus fills the loudest strain! 
What! shrink’st thou from the rainbows of the throne, 
And quiverest ’midst the rustling plumes around? 
Serene, O, soul! the Lord draws near—‘ Well done! 
Thou good and faithful servant! Enter in!” 

Gs 


186 


What! does the joy entrance thee? Droop thou not— 
Who made, on earth, the blind man eye the noon, 
Shall make thee, here, Himself undazzled see! 
Behold the King !—in all His beauty shown! 

The land immense, with distant beams adorn’d! 
The saints, the angels, lo, their glorious throng! 

I see! I see! but hide me with your wings, 
Cherub and seraph! Lead me as a child, ° 

Close to His throne! This crown—l'll lay it there, 
Low at His feet! I feel the Saviour near! 

I see the dear memorials of His wounds! 

My heaven is here! All glory to the Lamb! 


THE FUNERAL. 


Duly I went. 
The hearse and carriages in order stood, 

And groups of men, at corners of the streets, 
And round the door, in pensive mood conversed. 
The handle of the lock was bound with crape: 
The passage-way was dark. An agéd man 
Silently took my hand, and led my steps 

To the still chamber of the coffin’d corpse. 

The half-closed shutters mellow’d the sun’s glare, 
And spread a solemn twilight through the room. 
The tables and the mirrors were all clothed 

In spotless white, and from the mantel broad 
Down to the floor the linen drapery hung. 

I stood beside the corpse, and lifting up 

The snowy covering, gazed most thoughtfully, 
Most reverently, most sorrowfully gazed 

Upon that face, emaciate, pale, and cold. 

The hollow temples; the transparent brow, 

Part shaded by the dark and glossy hair; 

The purple eye-lids, covering the glazed balls, 
Sunk in their sockets; and the wasted cheeks, 
And blenchéd lips, still brighten’d with a smile 
The sweet composure resting over all: 


188 


Oh! I did gaze, until my heart grew large, 
And tears relieved my sadness. 


Soon I heard 
The voice of mourning, and approaching steps. 
Then came the parents, bent with age and grief, 
The brother and the sister weeping came, 
To give the last look to the one so loved. 
They look’d, they wept; all but the white-haired sire, 
He merely heaved one sigh, and felt one tear 
Start from its source, as though it were his last; 
For he had seen much trouble,-and was used 
Sternly to bear a quiet agony. 
The mother kiss’d the cold lips o’er and o’er, 
And bathed the pallid cheeks with streams of grief; 
The sister lean’d upon her brother’s arm, 
And cried aloud; while he,-with lips compress’d, 
Strove to subdue his pain—his exquisite pain, 
To see his daily fellow lying there. 
They turn’d away, and as they turn’d, the sire 
Gave the last glance, and fill’d his swelling heart: 
Oh God !—he said—but ere another word 
Fellfrom his tongue, he check’d the murmuring thought. 


The face was veil’d again, the coffin lid 
Was closed and screw’d, and then the bearers came 
And bore the body to the pluméd hearse. 
The mourners took their seats—the train moved on 
Slowly toward the dwelling of the dead. . 
Men at the doors, and from the windows women, 
Look’d carelessly : an infant, in the arms 
Of love maternal, clapp’d its tiny hands 
And pointed, smiling, even at the hearse. 


189 


Ah! little knew that sinless child of death! 
I wept while thinking of its after days! 


We had pass’d through the gate, and now we stood . 
Around the open grave. Strong-arméd men, 
Grasping the ropes, the coffin slowly lower’d, 

Until it rested on the cold damp floor. 


Around us were the marble monuments, 

And graves o’ergrown with long thin grass and flowers; 

And overhung with trees of richest leaf; 

_ Some spreading wide, and casting a light shade, 
While others, pendent, even to the ground, 

Threw o’er some favor’d mounds a deeper gloom. 

The cricket, by the tomb-stone hid, sent forth 

Its evening song, and on the upper branch 

The robin whistled merrily. Afar, 

Upon the river’s bank, and stretching thence 

Back to the o’er-topping hills, the city lay. 

Above us, was the cloudless blue—the sun, 

Descending to the verge, shone ’twixt the trees, 

And burnish’d the clear waves with liquid gold, 

And every swelling dome and steeple high; 

And every hill’s brow blest with yellow crown. 

_ All things rejoiced. 


Alas !—one joyless group, 
We, weeping, stood around that open grave: 
The trembling mother and the struggling sire; 
The sister, with swollen eyes and throbbing heart; 
The brother, striving sadly with his grief. 
Oh! who could comfort them ?—who bind their hearts, 
Their broken hearts, in bonds of peace again? 
Who soothe their troubled souls? 


190 


The passing wind 
Was more consoling far, than would have been 
The voice of heathen or poor infidel! 
For heathen eye ne’er saw the flowers of hope, 
And infidels but crush them under foot. 


If e’er my heart had joy—if ever yet, 

Pleasure hath fired mine eye or loosed my tongue, 
"Twas when, with healing words, from God’s own mouth, 
I bade the mourners think of Him, who says— 

‘“T AM THE RESURRECTION AND THE LIFE.” 

The Resurrection !—Calvary’s cross was red 

With Jesus’ heart’s blood, and the sealéd tomb 

His piercéd body held; but cruel death, 

Though it had mangled him; and the strong grave, 
Though it had bound him for eternity ; 

Both were drage’d captives at his chariot wheel. 
From the rock sepulchre he rose again, 

As though he left the downy bed of sleep. 

And, surely as he rose, this Christian’s frame, 
With all the strength, and grace, and hues of youth, 
Of youth no more to fade, shall rise again. 

The resurrection and the Life !—the life! 
Immortal life! What though these rural charms, 
Yon city’s pomp, he witnesseth no more? — 

What though this pile of clay shall be cast down, 
‘Hiding his body from his fellow’s gaze ? 

What though his flesh shall blacken and then rot, 
And feed a thousand worms?—make it as foul 

As pitiless fancy can! What then? Why life— 
Again I say, immortal life is his. 

No sooner had his spirit left his frame, 

Than friendly saints, well-known in former days, 


191 


And glorious angels, with their golden wings, 
Sang him their welcome, and conducted far 
Where Paradise in fadeless beauty blooms. 

And now—while we, with decent rites, inter 

His much-loved form,—the hand, the gentle hand 
Of smiling Jesus haply lifts the crown, 

And, while his servant kneels before him, bends, 
And rests it on his brow—bright as a star! 


The parents yielded resignation meet, 

The brother’s and the sister’s hearts grew calm. 
Uncovering then our heads, in reverence due, 
We bless’d the Lord for our sweet gospel hopes; 
And thence, with fresh resolves to follow Christ, 
Departed to our homes in perfect peace. 


GENIUS. 


In childhood he had loved to wander forth 

And feast his soul on beauty. Where the brook 
Flow’d darkly pure beneath the forest shade ; 

And where the hermit lilies on the bank 

Sat in their snowy robes, all meekly bent 

As though ashamed to show their loveliness; 

And where the cascade shouted, as it leap’d 

From knoll to knoll down to the lucid stream ; 

And where the wild bird, on the bough o’er head, 
Sang to its mate, that on the tiresome nest 
Patiently brooded, longing forthe day 

When the sweet younglings, from the broken shells, 
Should lift their voice for food, and open wide 
Their thronging beaks impatient for the worm; 
And where the cool breeze rustled the green leaves, 
And kiss’d the dimpling waters, and bestow’d 
Motion and life on all things as it pass’d: 

There loved he to repose, and yield his mind 

To desultory musing and sweet peace. 


Youth came ;—and nature’s lovely walks were left, 
For the still world of books. Stern science led 
His weary eye through tomes all dull and dead; 
And bade him yield the bright imaginings 


195 


Vision’d in childish joy: and strip the sky 

Of its pure holy beauty, and the earth 

Of all its strong enchantments, and employ 

His thoughts on things of dismal truth. The blue, 
That like a rich pavilion-circled earth, 

He learn’d was naught. The stars, that came at eve, 
Like angels watching o’er a sleeping world, 

Were worlds themselves, that roll’d afar away 
Heedless of earth, absorb’d in selfishness. 

The moon, that seem’d an angel nearer come, 

More fond, to watch the better, was an orb 

Whose lustre was all semblance—borrow’d all. 
And then the glorious sun, that oped the gate 

Of rosy morn, and -waved his golden locks, 
Rejoiced to see again mountains and vales, 

Was but a fixéd fire, so far remote 

That numbers scarce could count the mighty space. 


One talk’d of metals, clays, and crystals bright; 
And closed by saying diamonds worth a plumb, 
Were mere black charcoal! Then another came, 
And snatch’d away a rainbow-color’d flower, 
And bade him think no more of hues or scent, 
But mark theshape of stalks, the taste of roots! 
Another wisely prated on wild thought, 

And said ’twas naught but the effect of some, 
Or all, the worm-like motions of the brain! 
Another proudly preach’d that noble man, 

With all his lofty claims, was but an ape 

Shorn of his tail! But wherefore swell the list? 
The atom insect that can only breathe 

A thimble-full of air before it dies; 

As well as the vast mammoths that ere now, 


17 


194 


Exhausted the blue vault—the mighty race, 
All famishing for lack of a mere breath : 

All things, alive or dead, were made to appear 
Alike and useless, loveless and untrue ! 


He turn’d away disgusted—as a chief, 

Used from his cradle to the twanging bow, 

And all the wild ambition of the chase ; 

Used to bold freedom, roaming through deep woods, 
Climbing the loftiest heights, and joying in 
The thundering storm as in the sunny calm; 
W’en as the chief thus used, when far away, 
From scenes of former life; and wandering sad, 
Among the stationary piles of art; 

And midst a race as soulless as their bricks; 

As he repines, and pants for his own trees, 
And wayward waters, and turns back with joy: 
So did the youth from all that science taught, 
Turn back to live with nature; and to live 

’Mid an ideal race, that smiled around, 

To him, in every shady nook of earth, 

Or sunny spot, or waters wandering wild. 

Then he rejoiced, his spirit burn’d within, 

And when his thoughts grew cold, he held a steel 
Up to the lightning, and brought down the bolt 
That broke his bonds, and set his spirit free! 


DEATH OF THE YEAR. 


The weary Year, that, for the last three moons, 

Has wander’d joyless over hill and dale, 

Wither’d and chill; and, through the cheerless woods, 
Toil’d, rustling the dry leaves that strew the path, 

At every step, is breathing his last hour. 


I saw the Pilgrim, on the mountain-top, 

With footsteps slow and sad still wending on. 

His restless vision ranged the treacherous earth, 
Or upward turn’d, to watch the rising star 

Of Destiny !—which, once heayven’s height attain’d, 
Should claim the way-worn as a sacrifice. 

Bright beam’d the star, still brightening as it rose. 
Yet, but more feebly, went the Pilgrim on. 

At length he trod upon the broken verge 

Of an abyss, so deep—the keenest glance 

Of fire-eyed lightning could not pierce its depth. 
A cloud came o’er the star, but, as the brink 
Began to crumble, out again it gleam’d, 

And lo! its station was the point of death. 

A voice, from some Unseen, with awful tone 
Startled the silence, as the doom’d one stood, 
Dizzy, and tottering—saying: “ Yield thy scroll!” 


196 


Eternity! ’tis thine!—the Pilgrim said : 

And bowing, meek, held forth a trembling scroll. 
No form appear’d, no hand; but as the seroll 
Shone in the star-light, instantly—’twas gone! 
Kternity received it!—and the Year, 

The weak and weary Year, with one step more, 
Found endless rest far down that searchless void. 


THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. 


Through all the walks of life, the sons of death 
Pursue their errands. Some expand their wings 
Dark o’er the populous city, and dispense 

Wide from their dripping plumes the horrid plague. 
Some sound the trump of battle, call abroad, 

From halls and huts, the chivalry and strength 

Of vengeful lands; reflect by voice and glance 

The roar and flash; and in the rising clouds 

Hover with joy and quaff the smell of blood. 

Some smite secluded homes; lead forth the boy 

Of gray-hair’d hope, and ’tomb him ’neath the wave ; 
Send down the lightning at noon-day to scathe 

The stay of weakness; and the midnight flame 

Fan, while love shrivels in its dire embrace. 

Some lift the awful bowl to lips obscene; 

Some cast cold billows o’er the shrieking bark ; 
Some rend the earth to bury all she bears; 

While others seal their victims at their birth, 

And leave a withering blight that must prevail. 


ice 


IMMORTALITY. 


The flower that opens to the rising sun, 
Sweetening an hour the pure and dewy air, 
And then before the reaper’s sickle falls; 

Is God’s own emblem of the life of man. 

Yet when the sun that shines upon the flower— 
The kingly sun, to whose controlling laws, 
Still mighty as at first, the willing spheres 
Harmoniously submit,—ay, when the sun 
Shall see his crown in fragments, and in twain 
His golden sceptre, and the whirling clouds 
Of endless darkness closing round his throne ; 
And hear the breaking of the bonds that hold 
The orbs in his dominion; then shall man, 
The same that lay beside the perish’d flower, 
Awake, immortal, from his long repose, 

And in the presence of Destruction stand 
Fearless and beautiful, till angels come 

To guide him to an everlasting home. 


THE RESURRECTION. 


Adorn thy vales, again, O earth! with bloom, 
Reclothe thy wooded hills with wonted green, 

Roll on thine ocean waters, and rejoice! 

Thy path is midst the stars! uplift the pomp 

Of chanted glory! Glow round all thine orb! 

Yet know a still small voice shall stop thy course 
When in full grandeur. Dumb shall be thy tongue, 
And hush’d thy heart, and dim thine eyes in death. 
Thy mountains shall dissolve to particles, 

And all the quickening surface move with life! 
Thine oceans shall evanish, and their depths, 

Dry in a moment, nations shall disclose, : 
Rising from graves o’er which the wrathful storm 
Triumph’d for ages! 


FRAGMENTS. 


Es BE BS We ae 


Thou hast required, 
O Father ! all Thy children need perform. 
If Thee they honor, round them high will grow, 
With night-dews mellowing soil, and root and leaf; 
And day-beams glowing to the heart of all; 
The green, and bloom, and fruitage of all grace, 
All virtue : rising o’er their lowly homes 
And yielding, like a blessed Tree of Life, 
The shade of safety and the breath of peace, 
And wholesome fulness of angelic food. 


Tea vB Ours 


No superstitious symbol sways my soul. 

Avaunt all error! What are forms to me, 

Without their spirit? What but death—drear death ! 
Yet what is spirit separate from form? 

God is a spirit! Is there aught beside, 

Like God? In all His works, the form 

Is first—and then the spirit, breathing life. 

So Adam—so the Church; in each, the form 

Was moulded first, then came the quickening soul. 


THE REFUGE. 


O Infinite One! in all good infinite! 

What praise should ever from my heart ascend, 

For knowledge of Thy nature and Thy will: 

What prayer attend my praise !—that, as I know, 
Glowing and glad I may obey and love: 

Loving, obeying, feel Thee ever near; 

Communing with Thy Spirit—as a child 

Its sparkling eyes to brighter sparkling eyes, 

Lifts, as its mother smiles; and thrills with joy 

Of speechless, spirit-piercing sympathy : 

That so—unhappy, in this crowded world, 

This lone, wild, wicked, wretched, dying world, 

I, cleaving still to Thee, my Father, God! 

In Thee, and what Thou orderest, may exult: 

Thee—if the universe were now a void— 

My home and friends! my sun, moon, star, heaven, earth! 
Cherub and seraph! Saviour! All-in-all! 

Immense, eternal fulness of all grace, 

All glory! 


TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 


Read, think, and fix thy duty in thy mind; 

And then, despite the world’s alluring charms, 
Despite the strong temptations of the fiend, 
Despite the evil stirrings of thy heart, 

Sternly perform thy duty to the last. 

Swerve nota moment. Let thy lofty hope 

Stand at the throne’s foot in mid-heaven! The flowers 
Of sinful pleasures, trample on; and wear 

The thorns of persecution on thy brow, 

Should such a crown be bound there, with a smile. 
In Gop be thy dependence ; in the blood 

Of Christ, thy self-abjuring faith. And then, 
The path of life, or long or short, shall be 

A path of peace; and when the gate appears, 

The gate of Death, thou shalt advance with joy, 

’ And sound the iron knocker: glad to think 

That, as the folds shall part, all heaven will shine 
Full on thy sight—thine own inheritance! 


PRAYER FOR A FAMILY OF MY FRIENDS. 


Almighty ! thine are all things; and thy love 
Delights to show its fulness in rich gifts, 
To all thy meek disciples. 


In thine ear, 
I breathe a fervent prayer that these, my friends, 
May know thy goodness fully and forever! 
Health, wealth, extended life, the thousand joys 
Of social intercourse with kindred hearts; 
Oh! may I ask, and earnestly, all these? 
Nay, who of mortal frame can apprehend 
Th’ effects and fitness of the things to come? 
Thou only, Lofty One! who lookest abroad, 
From unimagined height, o’er all the years 
Of infinite duration !—Thou, alone, 
The circumstances leading to result 
Of final bliss, may’st know! With thee, I rest 
The choice of outward portion. 


But I pray, 
(Thou dost permit, and Thou wilt grant such prayer) 
I pray that all simplicity of truth, 
All gentleness of feeling, such as dwelt 
In our Exemplar, may be ever theirs. 


204 


I pray that faith, and hope, and love may be 

The treasure of their souls. Unwavering faith; 
Firm as a rocky islet, mid the surge 

Of myriad temptations: sun-like faith ; 

Scattering the darkness of futurity, 

And pouring on the palaces of heaven 

Immortal radiance; cheering to the eye 

Of weary pilgrim, longing for the gate. 

—And hope, sweet hope, with strong, untiring wing; 
Sporting before them o’er the heayenward way: 

At times, far onward in its rapid flight, 

Bright as a meteor near the throne of God ; 

And then, returning, floating on spread plumes 
Just overhead and singing, like a lark 

That from the dawn-cloud sees the rising sun, 

Its song of rapture, quickening the faint step 

And gladd@’ning the sad heart with thoughts of rest. 
—And love, triumphant love, o’er all supreme: 

The fairest spirit in the universe! 

Thy favorite, Father! O permit her voice 

To prompt them to thy praise, and to the boons 
Claim’d by their suffering fellows! Let her walk 
In beauty in their midst, and they will be 

Of all the happy, happiest; and their looks, 

Smiling like hers, shall win them entrance, soon 

As they shall touch the threshold of thy courts! 
The prayer thou hearest—for Christ’s sake let it be! 


MORSE AND REMORSE. 


ee 


“REMORSE, fear, a consciousness of being detested, disgust with life and 
horror of death—these were the sentiments which troubled the sick couch of 
the absolute king.”—Bancroft’s Miscellanies, page 78. 


Morse fires the present, brings the distant near, 
Exchanges thought and keeps the world astir. 


But—Remorse fires the past, the future fires, 

As well as present: fills the air of all 

With lightning messages whose wires are stretch’d 
Irom earth to heaven and hell; whose wheels and keys 
Are in the soul, all working day and night, 

While conscience, pale as paper, and as quick 

As a prest nerve, still writhes beneath the steel, 
Indelibly receiving, as it rolls, 

All marks of shame, and grief, and fear, and wrath, 
Spinning its length to madness. 


Ah, poor soul! 
May pity drive the dragon from his prey! 
May pardon, from the Man of Calvary: 
And peace, from Christ in glory, touch thy strings 
With God’s salvation! 


Man must feel for man: 
Poor sinner! fly to Jesus and be saved! 


18 


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“WHERE THE PINNACE TOUCH’D THE STRAND, 
LEAPING—FOREMOST OF HIS BAND, 
BOWING—ON ADORING KNEE, 
CONSECRATING ALL THE SOIL, 
COLUMBUS—anp THE cross!” 


P26 


COLUMBUS: 


THE DISCOVERY OF THE NEW WORLD. 


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COLUMBUS: | 


OR, 


THE DISCOVERY OF THE NEW WORLD. 


I~ THE AGES. 


The Aass still rejoiced to see 
The matchless beauty ever blooming here ; 
And as our turning sphere 
Below them brought 
Old sail-girt realms of Art and Thought, 
They wonder’d it could be, 
That not a man was found, 
In all the nations round, 
This Mystery to sound, 
And leap, the Startler of the World! the first’ upon the 
ground! 


ee Ee Sn Ne 


It seem’d some chosen one 
Must sometime mark the ANGEL OF THE SUN— 
Where, every eve, 
More and more loth to leave 
This Secret yet unknown, 
18* 


210 


He linger’d on the western horizon: 
There stretch’d symbolic clouds from pole to pole, 
In snow-white mountain lines; 
Lit up their peaks as with volcanic fire; 
Smoothed down their yellow slopes like golden mines; 
Spread out the prairies in their purple pride; 
And open’d far and wide 
Lakes, bays and gulfs, all calm and bright, 
And full of isles of light : 
And then, to wake the world’s desire, 
Lifted his great round shield, 
Drew back the folds that dimm’d its radiant field, 
And turn’d its whole of glory on the whole: 
Then, thoughtful of but one thing more, 
Inclined its rim 
To the ocean’s brim, 
Blazed a broad path from shore to shore, 
And sunk from sight! 


Li Do To SO) 


Tt seem’d some pensive one, 
Contemplative of twilight seas and skies, 
Must heed the MAIDEN oF THE Moovn,,. 
Oft disappearing but returning soon, 

Sailing alone, 
Serenely in her slender, silver, crescent caravel : 
Night after night, 

Filling its horns with light, 
Outrounding presently a perfect sphere. 

As though to say: ‘* Look here! 

And solve the simple spell: 

In this the secret lies— 


211 


Safe voyaging, I add unto my store, 
Until my laden bark can hold no more, 
And lo! within its limits curl’d, 

I show a new-discover’d world ! 
There lies the Land: 
Can no one understand ?” 


IV. THE STARS. 


It seem’d such pensive one 
Must hear the Stars, each singing from his throne :— 
‘“No part of space is bare, 
No ether is so rare 
But floats some sign its Maker to declare : 
The firmament 
Reflects the sea o’er which ’tis bent, 
That men may know, 
For every star above, an isle below !” 


Vie PRE. COMET. 


It seem’d some studious ear, 

“Must catch the Comrr’s lone but wtiid refrain : 
When from its ancient absence calm it came, 
With unshorn flame, 

And to the hush’d heavens chanted this sweet strain: 

‘¢ Away with fear, 
All nature is the same ! 
Go where you may, 

The terrors of the timid fade away. 
If I from world to world so sure return, 
From age to age so even-orbéd burn, 

Unshaken by distress, 

With not one ray the less. 


212 


Circling the system with my splendid train ; 
How long shall man still linger on that shore ? 
Linger, and look, and wish, but dare no more !” 


Vitae SRA 


It seem’d some earnest eye 
Must mark the meaning of the smooth and azure Sky. 
How grand its lift! 
How vast its sweep! 
Yet not a rift 
Hangs o’er the deep! 
All day, all night, 
It turns and turns, 
And shines, and burns, 
With never a crack to challenge affright. 
Then wherefore deem th’ unknown of Earth so dread— 
With realms of wildest chaos o’er it spread ? 
All this instead, 
As from Cathay to Spain, 
So round and round again, 
The continents and seas their equal state maintain. ~ 


Vil. THRE SHA. 


“ Behold !’—exclaimed the Sra: 
“Through all the lapse of ages slow and grand, 
[ve brought my billows from the farthest West, 
And cast them, curling, foaming, on this strand. 
If aught of chaos there were known, 
Here would its floating proofs be shown, 
But still the coast from all such signs is free. 
One wave is like another, 
As though it were twin-brother, 


218 


And all alike obey one Sire’s benign behest. 

[ve trail’d you trees, of growth unseen before— 
Ships without sailors then : 

Another time [’ve laid upon the shore, 
Strange forms of drownéd men— 
Sailors with ships no more: 

Again, to show the savage sleight of hand, 

I’ve thrown the carvéd club upon the sand: 

And can it be that none shall understand ?” 


VIII. INTENSER WONDER. 


It seem’d some charméd one, 
Must soar in spirit from that crowded strand 
To heaven’s high throne, 
And see the surf-lines of the Lonely Land: 
See Greenland’s icy shore, 
Alaska’s broken forms, — 
The surging of the Southern seas around the Cape of 
Storms ; 
See Allegania’s woods, 
Niagara’s foam and bow, 
Maranon’s ocean floods, 
And Chimborazo’s glow: 
See all—and hear the roar! 


fool a WN EI 1) 


The WInDs turn’d architects, and wrought 
The cliff-moor’d clouds to ships of every size ; 
Then launch’d them on their westward way, and 
sought 
By gay processions gliding through the skies, 


214 


To tempt the harbor’d fleets below | 
To weigh the anchor, spread the sail, 
Run up their banners to the gale, 

And follow in the pilot-shade of some celestial prow. 
The lightning-rockets signall’d glad surprise, __ 
The thunder-trumpets shouted—“ Land, ho! land!” 
In vain, enchanted all, they could not understand. 


Xs ee eS bes 


And yet—not all! 
When God’s time comes, no want may lag behind it: 
There was a world to find—He found the man to find it. 
A grave and godly Marinere, 
Care-worn and early sere, 
Studious and wise, 
Beyond compeer : 
Not dull of sense or soul to Nature’s guise, 
But honor’d with the Spirit’s surer call : 
He now for many a year 
Had sought the Hidden Prize: 
In many a famous Port—with canvas idly furld ; 
In many a splendid Court—where lips of mockery 
eurl’d; 
He begg’d a boat—to find a world! 
At length a Woman’s hand 
Conferr’d the high command, 
And made the venture of her jewell’d store, 
For seas of pearls, and diamond cliffs, and continents 
of ore! 


215 


AL. THE EVENT: 


One night— 
A fearful way from home: 
A little light 
Sparkled upon the sight 
Of the sleepless man with the hopeful heart: 
As though Time’s steed, 
Just at the goal decreed, 
With his last leap had struck the spark 
From the New World in the dark. 
The Ages saw their hero come, 
They saw him start! 
They started ! and each star! 
Unlike a spark, 
That twinkle still illumed the dark ; 
The sympathetic skies 
Flash’d everywhere with sudden, joyous eyes ! 
The clouds were drifted far, 
The glad winds ceased to blow, 
And the Marinere’s bark lay to, rock’d by the swell below. 
The Angel of the Sun, that eve, 
Like one on urgent errand taking leave, 
Had scarcely deign’d a smile 
| Kre he was gone: 
So great his haste to reach again that now eventful Isle !— 
To hail a light more glorious than his own— 
The rise of Thought, where Sense had ruled alone! 
The modest moon forecast the coming ray, 
Breathed her blessing o’er the tide, 
Veil’d her face and stept aside: 
Then rush’d the Sun, and all was day. 


216 


Transfix’d the Angel stood, all else on earth forgot— 
Templed Asia, palaced Europe, Afric, waste and hot: 
There he stood, in time to see, 
Rich reward for all his toil, 
Recompense for utmost loss, 
Where the pinnace touch’d the strand, 
_ _Leaping—foremost of his band, 
Bowing—on adoring knee, 
Consecrating all the soil, 
Columbus—and the Cross! 
The Angel graved the scene upon his shield, 
Name, deed, and date, forever: 
The Harth to wrong may yield 
The Heavens—never ! 


ATI. FOLLOWERS. 


But—who are these ?— 
The white-robed millions of three centuries ! 
Slow and dread 
They leave the Cities of the Dead, 
Bearing many a deathless name, 
Won by works of boundless fame, 
Moving on, 
In thy majestic charge, O, peerless Washington! 
And who are these ?— 
The motley millions sweeping like the breeze 
O’er all the vast expanse between the seas ; 
To the wilderness still giving 
Countless Cities of the Living; 
Swarming mountain, plain and river, 
Warming all with Heart, 
Charming all with Art, 


Oharming, warming, swarming, with all life forever: 


217 


And who are these ?— 
The rearward millions, on their way 
Night and day, 


From every kingdom, nation, tongue, and clime, 


Bringing new names to thrill the future time: 
Ay, who are all, 
But followers of that Marinere, 
Care-worn and early sere, 
Studious and wise, 
Beyond compeer, 
Not dull of sense or soul to Nature’s guise, 
Who—honor’d with the Spirit’s surer call, 
_ Was prompt to say: 
‘Come the triumph when it may, 
I live but to obey !” 
These, O, abused Columbus! form thy train, 
These show thy triumphs circling land and main! 


XII. CLOSE. 


And now, 
Let all above and all below, 
The God of glory bless ! 
To Him all praise is due: 
He crown’d Columbus with success, 
To vindicate the True: 

But then—to check the pride of wit and skill, 
To prove that even a breath of wind 
May supersede the master-mind, 

And quite as well fulfil 
His sovereign will— 
In open sight of every eye, 
He wrote two names upon the Southern sky: 
Cabral—Brazil ! 


te, 
ee, 
oon - 


19 


HORSEBACK ON THE HEIGHT. 


{A CONTRAST OF EARTH AND SKY.) 


16 
A round of green: 
A bowl of blue: 
Of the world in whole, this round and bowl 
Are all that meet my view. 


il, 
This round of green— 
Uneven green: 

With distant waving lines of wooded hills; 
And gloomy glens, with hidden murmuring rills; 
And silent, sunny, upland fields, between: 
Wheaten fields of wisp-bound grain, 
Shock’d slant, or pitch’d on many a high-piled wain, 
Slow led, oft stopping, o’er the yellow stubble-plain : 
Oaten fields, that wait awhile, 

Nodding wide, 

Along the hillock’s breezy side, 

Down to the grassy meads, where whitest wild-flowers 
smile : 

And where the laughing rills, 

Escaping from the hills, 

Smoothing their fretted ripples, glitter as they glide. 


219 


This round of green— 
Tufted here and shaven there: 
Forest-black, or knoll’d in sheen; 
And O! so fair, 
So very fair, 
With many a shaded homestead whitening all the scene: 
Cattle about in herds, 
Lawn-illuming poultry and eave-chatting birds : 
Window bowers and blossoming trees, 

Full of flashing humming-birds and buzzing busy-bees: 
And in the porches human eyes of fire, 
Glancing at the gilded spire, 

Rising from the place of graves, 

Where the weeping willow waves, 

And, gathering to itself each pure desire, 
Pointing higher! 

This round of green 
Ts all of earth th&t may be seen. 


Tee 
That bowl of blue— 
Of even blue: 
No hills or rills, no glens or fields, no meads or home- 
steads there! 
No place of graves, 
Where the willow waves, 

Or glimpse of gilded spire, in that better air! 
That bowl of blue— — 
Transparent blue— 

A seeming shape, but only a hue, 

With all the universe shining through: 
All day—the sun, excessively bright; 
The stars—all night; 

And, blessing all hours, the meek moonlight: 


220 


That bowl of blue, 
Ethereal blue— 
All smooth and hard as it seems to be, 
I see! I see! 
The outlet of hope is there! 
No refuge for hope is here! 
Could 1 compass the whole of this earth of green, 
In every part would be seen, 
The place of graves, 
Where the willow waves, 
And death and despair have been: 
But, away and away, 
By night or by day, 
The spirit may fly through the yielding sky, 
And find the heaven, 
Where sin is forgiven, 
And none of the shriven 
Can e¥er die! 


IV. 
A round of green: 
A bowl of blue: 
Of the world in whole, this round and bowl 
Are all that meet my view. 


N; 
But—faith has a keener sight, 
And lives in a purer light, 
And to them who look at the upper world, 
All is right! 


THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTION. 


With power commission’d by the Source of Power, 
To quench a planet or to crush a flower— 

To scourge a nation, or an infant pain— 

To vex a worm or make a world complain— 

Prone on the buoyant winds, in flowing robe, 

The Spirit of Destruction sweeps the globe. 


Where yonder space glooms black upon the sight, 
A sylvan mansion rear’d its modest height. 
There artless Pleasure, smiling, fix’d her seat, 
And Eden’s angels graced the green retreat. 
Fired by the Spirit’s torch, its flames arose, 

And the charr’d fragments now its site disclose. 


Swift from the open hills, the swollen floods 
Whelm all the vales, and toss th’ uprooted woods. 
The startled peasant, bounding from his sleep, 
Feels his walls trembling to the rushing deep ; 
Cities, surprised, usurping water beats ; 

And Peril plies her life-boats through the streets. 


Loud roar the reinless winds: their headlong rage 
No force can quell, and distance scarce assuage ; 
1a 


ZL 


‘The hoary forests, wrench’d, in ruin fly ; 

And trunks, and leaves, and branches shade the sky. 
Lone homesteads, razed, lament their lawless wrath ; 
And unroof’d hamlets mark Destruction’s path ! 


On booms the whirling tempest, ocean raves, 

Heaves treacherous hills, and scoops a thousand graves. 
The shrieking sailor, plunging down th’ abyss, 

Resigns to fate, and yields the hope of bliss ; 

While, hovering ghastly in the meteor’s glare, 

The Spirit of Destruction triumphs there ! 


The trees are touch’d with poison; withering fast, 
The shrivell’d foliage rustles on the blast. 

The burning pastures harden to a crust ; 

Where flow’d the brooks, the cattle paw the dust. 
The blooming virgins, sick’ning, waste away, 
Blanch’d is the rose, and dimm’d the visual ray. 
The sturdy shepherds sink, unnerved, and faint ; 
And ‘ water! water!” loads earth’s loud complaint. 


Yon nursling infant to the bosom turns ; 

And where was life—a deadly fever burns ; 

The mother pores with anguish on her child; 

She moves not, speaks not; but her eyes grow wild— 
Her brain is crazed,—and hark! the maniac sings: 
‘“ An angel points me to yon cooling springs ! 
Cheer up my Ishmael! Lo! the waters rise, 

And shady groves defend from scorching skies !””— 
"Twas heaven she saw—and there her soul has fled ; 
And her sweet infant, nestling, hugs the dead ! 

See ! fondly twined, he shuts his weary eye ! 

Oh! orphan infant! wake beyond the sky! 


oe 
225 


Unclouded azure o’er yon city reigns, 

And golden glory gilds its glancing fanes. 

Yet Hunger there for food despairing calls: 

Plucks the spare grass that sprouts along the walls: 
Or, madly prostrate at his palace gate, 

Gnaws his lank arms, and bites the rod of fate. 


The noon-day terror—and the midnight death, 
Destruction’s venom fills the common breath. 

The strong grow weak, the active sink supine ; 

And purple spots reveal the fatal sign. 

The streets are grown with grass; the Sabbaths smile, 
But silent sleep the belfry and the aisle. 

One general lazar-house, the city stands ; 

And one vast sepulchre, the neighbouring lands. 


Destruction stamps the earth,—the valleys rend, 
Towns prostrate fall and topmost hills descend. 
Where lakes lay level, mountains touch the skies ; 
And where spread cities, wreckful oceans rise. 

A world of horrors dims the aching sight, 

And shrieks and thunders shake the orbs of night. 


Fires, floods, and whirlwinds to thy nod conform ; 
And drought and famine—deadlier than the storm! 
The plague, gaunt terror, strews the putrid ground! 
And heaving earthquakes spread their victims round! 
Yet, were thy sway here bounded—earth would bloom, 
And Eden, rising, triumph o’er the tomb ! 

Thy robes be bloodless; and thy power a name, 

Scarce heard amidst the loud reports of fame ! 

These slay thy thousands,—but thy arrows fly 

Thick as the streaming sunbeams through the sky! 


224 


The earth is vein’d with poison—herbs and trees 
Suck in the death and shed it on the breeze ! 
Beasts prey on beasts, and lap the crimson flood ! 
Envenom’d reptiles fire the human blood ; 

And unseen insects, mocking pomp and pride, 
Throw down their ghastly myriads at thy side! 
While man uplifts his fratricidal hand, 

And pours his brother’s life at thy command ! 


Thou shalt consume the globe,—the stars shall fall; 
And silence, wreck and darkness compass all! 
And thou no more! Then new-born worlds shall shine, 
And universal roll the eternal golden line! 


THE RAIN CLOUDS. 


Dun clouds, that only dim the day, 
O’erspread the ample sky, 

And summer realms, in rich array, 
Calm in the shadow lie. 


"Tis but an intervening veil, 
Alive with beams above, 

Where hill and valley gladly hail 
The gleaming form of Love. 


How blest the holy angel now, 
Who folds his heavenly plumes, 
On some far mountain’s silent brow, 

Which still the sun illumes! 


Thence wide his radiant eyes compare 
The landscape, low and green ; 

The high blue beauty of the air 
The showering clouds between :— 


The upper light, the under rain, 
The blended, guardian bow ; 
The grandeur of the solar plain, 

The streaming good below :— 


226 


How soon the shadow disappears, 
While yet the blessing stays ; 
And nature, smiling in her tears, 

Is rapt in speechless praise :— 


How heaven and earth unite again, 
Refresh’d, and cool, and bright ; 

The bloom and verdure bent with rain, 
The rain-drops fill’d with light. 


O World! thus cheer’d by power Divine, 
Thine altar, hush’d and lone, 

To him becomes a hallow’d shrine, 
Whose place is at the Throne. 


And there he learns—meek Child of Love! 
E’en clouds their Maker show: 

Reflect His glory from above, 
And pour His grace below. 


COMMUNION WITH GOD. 


O INFINITELY Perfect One! 
What consciousness is Thine ! 

How different from the wondering awe 
That oft oppresses mine ! 


My nature is a living point, 
Round which the dead worlds roll : 
The space, that circles all their range, 
Concentres in my soul. 


My nature is a living point, 
Round which the dead years roll : 
The time, that circles all their range, 
Concentres in my soul. 


My nature is a living point, 
Round which the faith-realms roll : 
Their spaceless, timeless, spirit-range, 
Concentres in my soul. 


Could I those amplitudes explore, 
This pressure might depart: 

But, here confined, their mysteries 
Lie heavy on my heart. 


228 


When from this point I look abroad, 
Space seems too vast for me: 

And time—inexplicably sad ; 
And faith—like vanity. 


Yet—am I but a floating film, 
Reflecting sea and shore ? 

Then, breaking with the stranded wave, 
Kternally no more ? 


Surely my anxious consciousness 
Claims some diviner state : 

“ Fear not !”—methinks I hear 'Thee say— 
‘“* Be humble, child, and wait!” 


And wait I will! Still let the worlds 
All round and round me roll— 

Light, motion, music, from all space, 
Still pour into my soul. 


Let sins and ills of all time, past 
And present, pain me still: 

And faith-realms hide, unseen, unheard : 
Yet—humbly wait I will! 


Let even death eclipse the scene, 
Still, while one ray is left— 
Until the darkness be complete— 

I shall not be bereft. 


Nor then !—for life is all eclipse, 
And death is but its height: 

Then comes the oblivion of the shade 
In everlasting light. 


20 


229 


Then shall my consciousness expand, 
Till it resemble Thine : 

And, like my blessed Saviour, “ all 
The Father hath” be mine. 


O Infinitely Perfect One ! 
What consciousness is Thine! 

How different from the wondering awe 
That now oppresses mine ! 


Thy nature is the living whole! 
All I believe and see,— 

All space, all time, all worlds, all life,— 
Are only points to Thee! 


In Thy serene immensity 
All mysteries are clear: 

And every breath at once reveals 
Its meaning in Thine ear. 


And it may be, Thou knowest not one 
Of all the*worlds in space, 

Save this, where sin and death obscure 
The glorious reign of grace. 


And it may be, the lesson here 
Contemplates such avail, 

That love itself would weep to see 
Its consummation fail. 


So, let me humbly, calmly wait, 
Till all this life has flown: 

Then shall I see as I am seen, 
And know as I am known! 


A MIDNIGHT RAPTURE. 


Amen ! 
The will of God be done! 
He calls the beautiful away, 
To worship at the throne. 
The beautiful in soul, 
The saintly and the good, 
The sinner freed from sin’s control, 
Wash’d in redeeming blood. 
God calls the holy one away ; 
With crown of light, 
And vestments bright, 
To walk amidst the bloom of everlasting day. 
* 
. Amen! 
The dream of life is past! 
O, what a maze of mingling hues, 
Far backward, melts at last! 
And what a roar of sounds,— 
Gay laugh and chilling wail : 
Like thunder on the sun-set bounds, 
Now, like a dying gale: 
The voices, and the rainbow hues, 
They faint, they fade, 
The flight is made: 
To thee, O mocking earth! no more the spirit sues ! 


231 


Amen ! 
An onward verge of light ! 
Landscapes uncursed and cloudless skies! 
Fair groups in robes of white ! 
And coming voices bland, 
Of melody and bliss ; 
The pressure of an angel’s hand, 
The warmth of saintly kiss ; 
A. deathless world with nightless skies : 
Beauty and Youth, 
And Love and Truth, 
O, blest exchange, for all that lives, of all that dies! 


Amen ! 
The Vision of the Blest ! 
The sweetness of the Saviour’s voice ! 
The happiness of rest! 
The Majesty Divine, 
In solar pomp serene: 
From whose far rays, all suns that shine 
Their golden glories glean! 
O, Loved of Heaven! lift up thy voice 
With kindred tongues, 
Unite thy songs, 
Or, rapt in silent praise, in God alone rejoice! 


MY DAUGHTER’S BIRTH-DAY. 


e 


Then thought I, every chord of thine, 
Harp of my youth! with joy shall ring. 
The young immortal! gift divine! 
Her welcome to the earth [ll sing. 
But when I saw the world, though bright, 
Was bathed in a delusive light, 
My yielding faith was lost in fears, 
And every harp-string wet with tears. 


Oh, shame! when God, in tender love, 

Had granted such a precious boon, 
That I should stay the burst of joy 

And doubt His faithfulness so soon! 
My harp—when such a bliss was given 
That earth assumed the hues of heaven— 
To sweeter song should have been strung, 
Than childless angel ever sung. 


Behold ! a year the sun has past 

In daily glory o’er her head, — 
And He who brought her into life 

Has still preserved her from the dead. 
And more—though many hours have been 
When pale and weak her form was seen— 


server 
PASTY 


Her gentle eye so blue and coy, 
Ten thousand times has flash’d with joy! 


’Twas sweet to watch her opening mind, 
From the first living glance that proved 
The soul within was looking out, 
And, looking, something saw it loved ; 
To when, with most enchanting grace, 
The kindling smile adorn’d her face ; 
And still she laugh’d while, small and white, 
Both hands were waving with delight! 


And now, though many weary miles 
Of land and water intervene, 
Methinks my darling babe I see, 
With careful step and brow serene, 
Tott’ring along, while at her side 
Her watchful mother walks as guide, 
And, hoping that I soon may come, 
Tells her to call her father home! 


I can no more. (Great Shepherd! thou, 
Though I am distant, still art near! 
Yet in thy bosom bear my lamb, 
And keep it safe another year! 
The lamb is thine; but let me hold 
And lead it nightly to the fold, 
And all the day with it abide, 
Where the still waters smoothly glide ! 


20* 


THE INVITATION. 


Where the Lily-isle sleeps in the lap of the hills, 
Like a babe in its cradle, a bird in its nest; 
Where the plaint of the doves and the lapse of the rills 
Like the voices of angels, sink deep in the breast; 
Where the breezes blow cool, and the willow grove shades, 
And the urns of the mountains pour down their cascades ; 
There thy brother, enraptured, calls—Sister, love! come! 
For the spirit of Eden has here fix’d her home! 


The wild eagle calls shrill, on the cliff-top alone, 
As to waken the ear of the heroes above; 

While young Liberty smiles from her azure-hued throne, 
And her favorite sons bless the land that they love. 
Here the Spirit of Beauty, midst fountains and flowers, 
Has embrighten’d her colors, and painted the bowers; 
And her rosy cheeks flush, and her starry eyes shine, 

For her dwelling on earth is so like her divine! 


Here the crystalline brook ripples softly around, 
And the willows, like sentinels, compass the isle ; 
Here the freshest of verdure is spread on the ground, 
And the choicest of flowers in their loveliness smile: 
Here the wild rose and woodbine their fragrance declare, 
And the perfume of violets hallows the air. 


"Tis the censer of nature! and sweetly a voice 
From the heavens proclaims—Let the island rejoice 


In the midst is a fountain, that springs from its bed, 
Like a beautiful naiad, to gaze on the vines; 
And a shower of diamonds around her is shed, 
And a halo of rainbows her temple entwines. 
_ Like a zone round the margin, and looking below, 
Where their images whiten like figures of snow, 
Bend the sad nuns of nature, the pale lilies bend, 
And complain o’er the heaven they cannot ascend. 


Through the arch of the precipice gleaming afar, 
On the shore of the lake that now glistens in light, 
’Midst the green-bosom’d hills that ne’er echoed with war, 
The most lovely of villages breaks on the sight. 
There the fane of Religion shines bright in the sky, 
And the cots of the villagers gladden the eye; 
There’s the home of our childhood; and far, far away, 
Like the vapors, the mountains seem melting to day. 


I have tested the strength of my beautiful boat, 
And its safety is sure as if broad as the lake; 
Like the glide of a duck, is the ease of its float, 
And the beamings of sunshine bespangle its wake. 
It is white as a cloud never tinged with a hue, 
And its sapphirine path as the heavens is blue ; 
And the breezes blow fresh through the vaporless dome, 
And thy brother, enraptured, calls—Sister, love! come! 


TO MARY. 


nt 


“But one thing is needful; and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall 
not be taken away from her.”—LUKE x. 42. 


‘‘ But one thing is needful :’—the World, in her pride, 
And with scorn on her features, may scoff at the truth; 

And the angel-like Tempter may walk at thy side, 
To fasten on earth the affections of youth ; 

And Fancy may brighten—thy footsteps to win, 

The hues of the flowers in the pathway of sin ; 

But the frown of Jehovah all evil shall blast, 

And the truth of the Lord be acknowledged at last. 


‘But one thing is needful :”—to sit at the feet 
Of the Saviour of sinners, in meekness and love ; 
With His smile resting on us, to hear Him repeat 
The glory that dwells in His palace above ; 
To learn from His lips that the Spirit is given 
To th’ humble in heart to prepare them for heaven ; 
And to feel, as we catch the sweet tones of His voice, 
That the soul, when with Jesus, cannot but rejoice. 


Then list to me, Mary! this portion be thine, 
In the morning of youth from the world turn away ; 
With the warm words of prayer seek assistance divine, 
For the boon shall be given as sure as you pray. 
And when thou hast chosen this excellent part, 
A heavenly peace shall be breathed on thy heart, 
And as fragrance can neyer be drawn from the flower, 
So to separate these there is none shall haye power. 


SATAN. 


Apostate angel! Fallen from glory’s height ! 

Thy plumeless wings have lost their primal flight! 
Beamless and shorn, dethronéd morning star ! 
Kternal darkness shrouds thy wandering car ! 
Ruler and bane of earth’s sustaining breath! 

Thy heart is poison, and thy frame is death! 
Soon fall the storms that on thy triumphs lower, 
And stayless thunders paralyze thy power! 


Malignant fiend! tell why—late blest and fair, 

Do Eden’s tenants droop in mute despair? 

Why are her cedars blighted ? and why fade 

Her glowing roses? Wherefore falls the shade 

Of jasmine bowers, and myrtles, rustling round ? 
Why desert sand where fountains should abound ? 
Why hang her birds their heads and wings supine ? 
And why, in helpless woe, her beasts recline ? 

Tell why,—before yon Seraph’s flaming sword, 
With guilt and shame, departs her mournful lord? 
And why, with tears and trembling, as he moves, 
Leans on her lord the partner of his loves? 
Where’er they turn, surrounding charms decay ! 
Why fade those charms? Why speedeth man away? 
Answer, thou envious fiend! yea, lift thy crest! 
Thy subtle malice triumph’d o’er the blest ! 


238 


The well-springs of enjoyment ceased to roll, 
And grief’s slow poison rankled in the soul! 


Why o’er yon lifeless youth does beauty weep ? 

Why mourns old age with sorrow still more deep? 
Why artless infancy caress the dead? 

And why the cloud of justice brood o’erhead ? 

Why shrinks yon haggard form? Ha! sudden blow! 
Hot lightning scathes the fratricidal brow! 

And Abel’s parted soul pronounced a tone, 

That made to tremble thy exulting throne ! 


Karth glooms! the sun is blood! the mighty rain, 

One world-wide cataract, booms from heaven amain ! 
Karth’s firm foundations burst! the waters rise ; 

And mountain tops, like islands, brave the skies! 

Far, far below, their storm-beat ee rock, 

And their throng’d summits, shrieking, own the mae 
Still swell the waves, till not one isle appears ! 

Till wreck’d the glories of a thousand years! 

Why thus ?—Alas! but one on earth was good! 

Thy myriad slaves provoked th’ o’erwhelming Flood! 


Why glows the reddening sky with burning haze ? 
Why are yon cities swallow’d by the blaze ? 

The sulph’rous showers with fatal fumes descend, 
And groans, and crashing towers, the welkin rend! 
On thy seduced ones pours the fiery rain, 

And hell ingulfs the Cities of the Plain! 


Why roll yon chariots ’twixt the parted waves ? 
Why speed yon horsemen blindly to their graves? 
Thy harden’d vassal leads their awful way, 

Till coil’d destruction, plunging, whelms his prey! 


239 


With tenfold rage, the surging ocean roars, 
And strews the slaughter’d hosts along its shores! 


From Eden’s withering to Egypt’s death, 

Thy venom tainted all of human breath ! 

From Egypt’s death cry to the passing hour, 
O’er reckless man has reign’d thy baleful power! 
And, till the wheels of time shall cease to roll, 
Till earth is fire, and heaven a shrivell’d scroll— 
Mankind shall yield their off’rings at thy shrine, 
And God’s creation serve thee,—as if thine! | 
Yet, what the cost of free-will vows to thee? 
Oh! that rash man would question Calvary ! 


Exiled archangel! does no ray of light 

Allure thine eye beyond eternal night? 

To where the sapphire gates and pearly wall 
Surround the glory of the God of all? 

To where thy birth-right throne—a beaming sun, 
Bright with the shadow of the Holy One— 
Peers o’er the stars of wing-veil’d seraphim, 
That holy anthems never cease to hymn ! 

Say ! would thy wings renew their former flight? 
But thou art doom’d to flames and endless night! 


Yon ocean rock beholds thy midnight form, 

And hears thy voice loud rolling on the storm; 

When, plunging in the grave thy fiery spear, 

Thou cry’st—“ The Scourge of Nations moulders here ! 
“T ure’d him on!—Yea, since the pristine fall, - 

‘All guilt is mine that stains this curséd ball! 

‘Not I alone unhappy! Still, each woe, 

“J dealt to others, caused myself a throe! 


240 


“‘ Hated by all that’s good, I know full well ; 
“ And ‘ fit to master’—all that serve in hell?” 


First foe of man! the universal air 

Exalts to heaven the Christian’s fervent prayer: 
‘‘Soon fall the storms, o’er Satan’s crown that lower; 
‘And stayless thunders paralyze his power!” 


FASHION. 


While fallen Adam mourn’d the fatal stroke, 
That sear’d creation as the law was broke; 

From the kind heavens, a form of beauty came; 
By Mercy sent—Improvement was her name. 
And thus her message: ‘‘ Mourning one, rejoice! 
And praise whom I obey, with thankful voice!’ 


Alas! said man, can pleasure soothe the heart 
That soon must quiver on destruction’s dart? 
Can he who holds a hell within his breast, 
Sing as in heaven, and lull the storm to rest? 
Jommand fair Eden’s lightning-scathéd trees 
To bloom afresh, and perfume every breeze! 
Or bid yon cataract, thundering to the plain, 
Turn to its fount, and sleep in peace again ! 
Will they give heed? then ask not me to raise 
A single sound of happiness or praise. 


Look o’er the earth—the withering curse hath made 
The young to wrinkle, evergreens to fade. 
Where late the angel Beauty look’d around, 
Palaced in Eden, and with glory crown’d; 
And saw her image in the dark clear lake, 
And her fair pictures hung on every brake, 

21 


242 


And wot one spot on all creation’s face, 
But bloom’d with health, and shone with smiling grace : 
alas! that I have seen ! 


Look now, and see 
What dreadful ravage mars the sweet serene! 
Behold the blasted Paradise ! the path 

Is red with vengeance; and the voice of wrath 
Mutters afar, as if repeating still, 

The curse that drove me from the holy hill. 


See the prone, smouldering woods ; the mountains brown ; 
The clouds that gloom ereation with their frown ; 

And lo! the turbid river swells and roars, 

And heaps the spoils of ruin on its shores. 

No wing is there in heaven; and earth below 

Is dumb with all the eloquence of woe. 

The throne of Beauty crumbled to the ground, 

And her dash’d crown in fragments fell around ; 

And as she fled, a long loud howl arose, 

And traitor Echo triumph’d with her foes ! 


‘‘ But cheer thee, Mourner!” bright Improvement said, 
“The God of mercy sends thee ample aid ; 

But list my voice, and earth, that seems so sad, 
Deck’d with new charms, again shall make thee glad. 
Thy doom is but to toil; I come to bless 

Thy whole employ, and make the labor less. 

Soon shall young Time the darken’d heavens clear ; 
And woods and mountains bloom throughout the year ; 
The turbid streams in lucid lustre flow, 

And all creation in fresh beauty grow. 

Sut list my voice,—and every new employ 

Shall bring less pain, and yield increase of joy. 

And, as thy sin from Eden turn’d thy path, 

And made the world the heritage of wrath, 


24S 


Thy toil, by me directed, shall compel 
From ruin, better than from what you fell: 
And make, for loss of Hden full supply, 

A fairer garden all beneath the sky.” 


The Fiend of Darkness, hid in robes of light, 
Stood near, and heard. Then, to the den of night, 
Swelling with fury, swift he glanced; and there, 
Thus, to the host infernal, pour’d his care :— 


‘He whom I hate, has sent Improvement down, 
To wake to smiles, what [ have taught to frown. 
I heard the minion promise joy to man, 

But I exist, and joy he never can! 

What! is it thought that I, who lately drove 
The wheels of terror through the bowers of love, 
Will tamely bear the tortures of my doom, 

And see those bowers again array’d in bloom? 
No! while there lives a soul of Adam’s race, 
The groans of earth shall pain the ear of space! 


‘Spirit of Change ! arise! ’tis thine to be, 

Again the cause of human misery! 

K’en while I hate, I bid thee near my throne, 
For still my hope depends on thee alone! 

Spirit of Change !—ha! how can I but feel, 

That but for thee, I still could bear to kneel! 
That but for thee, my kingly-crownéd brow, 
Would brightest shine of all in heaven that bow! 
Yet go!—for sure the subtle power that raised 
My rebel arm ’gainst Him I should have praised, 
The power that triumph’d in the recent fall, 

Can poison Mercy’s cup with bitterest gall! 


P44 


(vo !—and, where’er Improvement bends her path, 
Assume her semblance, and let loose thy wrath ! 
Go! and though man, behind the mask, may trace 
The blended horrors of thy fiendish face ; 

Thy toys shall make him cast her works aside, 
And follow thee, in all the pomp of pride! 

The mimic, rather than the mimick’d, love; 

And wish the angel housed again above! 

Then shall thy name be Fashion, and mankind 
Shall crave thy hand, and vow themselves are blind ; 
While, trusted thus, all other fiends shall be 

As peace to fury, when compared with thee!” 


TO A SKELETON 


Thou monument of death! Thou wreck of life! 
Sole, sad remembrancer of mortal strife! 


Thou image of destruction !—type of doom! 
Mocker of joy!—and index to the tomb! 

Thou smilest ghastly on our living forms, 

And seem’st to whisper—Ye shall feed the worms ! 


Thine eyes, how desert! and thine ears, how dull! 
How lost to thought, thine empty-eaten skull! 

Thy ribs, how heartless, cold, and reft of love: 

And motionless thy limbs, so wont to move! 

Thou wast as [;—sensation clothed thy bones; 

With bliss thy bosom glow’d, or heaved with groans. 


A thousand wants, a thousand whims impell’d, 
Thy buoyant feet to trace the verdant field ; 


* The most of these lines were written in the Lecture Room of Dr. Joseph 
p*#***%*h, of Philadelphia. The author entered the room a few minutes be- 
fore the time of the lecture, and, having a skeleton, pendent from the ceiling, 
for one of his companions, he was prompted to pencil this address. It was 
intended to be very respectfully inscribed to the excellent Lecturer,—but the 
writer’s sense of its unworthiness prevented him from associating it with a 
name so highly esteemed. 


246 


Or speed thy longing eyes to see the player; 
Or keep the pathway to the house of prayer: 
Thy hands, to bless the poor with daily bread, 
Or tear the suffering debtor from his bed; 

Or, haply, to some pledged but faithless friend, 
Thyself, the trembling, piteous palm extend. 


Ha! strong the fancy that could see thee now, 
Hard by the helm, or plodding at the plough! 
Once, all instinct with art, thy will controll’d 
Its countless instruments with subtlest hold ; 
Unseen—but still omnipotent to move, 

To deeds of bitterest hate or sweetest love. 


Yet where is now that will? Canst thow declare ? 
Unclose thy haggard jaws, and tell me where! 
All unsubdued, uncheck’d, triumphant still, 
Immortal flames the free and glorious will ; 

O’er time, o’er distance, spreads its wide domain ; 
The noblest subject of Jehovah’s reign. 


Farewell, gaunt Skeleton !—thou tellest a tale 
That makes the sinner sad in heart—and pale! 


THE COMING OF THE SHOWER. 


O, many a long and weary day, 
Nature has waited for the shower; 
The leaf has wither’d on the spray,, 
And faded every drooping flower. 
The grain-fields watch with. weary eye 
‘Each hopeful cloud that floateth by ; 
Man looks and mourns—but mourns in vain ; 
There falls no blessed drop of rain. 


But lo, the time has come! the cloud 

- With welcome gloom o’erspreads the ground ; 
There is the flash ! and hark! how loud 

In highest heaven the thunders sound: 

Drop after drop! and full and free 
On field and forest, flower and tree, 
The cloud’s whole treasure falls amain, 

And earth rejoices in the rain. 


Thus when the soul has mourn’d ;—when all 
The plants of grace have seem’d to die; 
When the faint spirit’s feeble call 
Has claimed the mercy of the sky ;— 
Then the refreshing time draws near, 
Down comes the shower; the dry and sear 
Revive at once, and all are seen 
In fragrant bloom and fruitful green! 


THE MOMENTARY GLANCE 


He thought of former days—and sigh’d ; 
Beauty was veil’d to him, 

And grandeur, glittering in its pride, 
And novelty, were dim; 

And memory sung the evening when 

Night came—to leave him not again. 


He thought upon that sacred day 
When marriage vows were given, 
When wit and beauty made him gay, 
And earth appear’d a heaven ;— 
When pleasure hung her lovely bow 

O’er all the storms that rage below. 


But one delight of nuptial life 
That husband could not know; 

For while his faithful, tender wife 
Gazed fondly on his brow, 


* These lines were written after hearing the relation of a fact, in substance 
as follows:—A gentleman was deprived of the power of vision. He was in- 
formed that, if he would consent to a certain operation, he might again see; 
though, probably, it would be only for a few moments. He immediately de- 
termined that the operation should be performed; that, once more, he might 
look upon the things of light. His wife and children, to him the dearest ob- 
jects on earth—were brought into the room, and so situated as to become the 
first subjects of his sight. The oculist exerted his skill, and the effect was as 
predicted. He was blessed with one momentary glance.—he saw those he 
loved best—and his son! shrank back in darkness. 


2449 


He could not meet her speaking eye 
With love’s bewitching sympathy. 


And though his children climb’d his knee, 
And sung their songs of mirth; 

And love imagined them to be 
The fairest things of earth, 

He saw not the peculiar grace 

That kindled in each smiling face. 


QO! dark and dreadful was the doom 
That fate had o’er him thrown; 

Mid flowers he looked not on their bloom, 
’Mid friends—he was alone. 

A star set in a starry sky, 

But hid from all its brilhaney. 


Hope sprung to life—the hand of skill 
His misty eyes might clear; 
And to his view, in sunshine, still 
The loved of earth appear. 
"Twas so—his soul look’d forth in light, 
Then backward shrunk in deeper night. 


He saw a soft, a piteous smile, 
Beam from his anxious wife ;— 
He saw the dewy charms awhile, 
Of those fair buds of life ; 
And sight was not—but memory made 
A sketch of all that could not fade. 


All earth’s magnificence—the glow 
Of nature and of art— 


250 


Wealth, beauty, fame,—could not bestow 
Such rapture on his heart, 

As that one momentary view 

Of those,—the lovely and the true. 


Thus, should some holy eye behold 
The glories now unknown, 

The palms—the crowns—the harps of gold— 
The rainbow and the throne— 

And then deep darkness pall the show, 

‘ould he forget his vision? No! 


Communings high, in silent hours, 
Would fix his thoughtful soul ; 
He’d muse on the celestial powers, 
And bid the moments roll 
More swiftly—till the day should come, 
When he might soar from earthly home. 


Neither could he, the blind one, cease 
To think when dawning light, 
Gave all his tenderness release, 
And brought his all to sight; 
And hope unto his soul would say, 
“Ye all shall meet in endless day.” 


“STUDY TO SHOW THYSELF APPROVED 
UNTO GOD.” 


Where shall the soul obtain, 
Some MAXIM that will lead 
From sorrow’s desert plain, 
To pleasure’s fountain-head ?— 
Which, like an Angel guide, 
Shall point where Jesus trod, 
And bring at last to Jesu’s side? 
Tis this,—tis this ! 
The golden key of bliss— 


1? 


‘¢ APPROVE THYSELF TO Gop! 


How happy is the breast, 
This maxim that maintains! 
Can aught disturb his rest, 
Whose CONSCIENCE has no pains? 
Earth frowns—but Jesus smiles ! 
Strikes—but he wards the rod! 
And lures—but vain are all its wiles! 
Mortal! may this 
Direct thy way to bliss— 
‘* APPROVE THYSELF TO Gop!’ 


THE MOTHER’S PRAYER. 


I heard a prayer—and e’en an angel’s ear, 
Might thrill with rapture, such a prayer to hear : 
I heard a prayer—the Holy one and High 

Was pleased to listen to his handmaid’s ery! 


I saw a Mother lift her eyes to heaven ; 

And heard her claim the joy of sins forgiven. 
Not for herself—for she through years had known, 
The happiness that Christians feel alone : 

But, for her children was that prayer exprest ; 
That heaven, at last, might be their mutual rest : 
That, let the world, with all its pomp and pride, 
Glow as 1t might on time’s deceitful tide: 

Let penury, with all its frowns, descend, 

And earth be bankrupt for a worthy friend: 

Still might the hand Divine their footsteps lead, 
And grant them grace sufficient for their need. 


And was she answered? Soon that Mother died, 
And left her children in the world of pride. 

Yet, scarcely had she praised the Lord above, 
Before her children sung redeeming love ; 

And while rejoicings sounded round the Throne, 
Their grateful voices mingled with her own ! 


Ye, to whose care Jehovah has consign’d, 

The dying body and the immortal mind ; 

Ah, claim not wealth, nor power, nor life, nor fame !— 
Earth, misery, half-existence, and a name !— 


But, pray your God to keep a watchful eye, 
Support, defend, preserve, and teach to die! 

And pray in faith—then, every child shall he, 
Worth more than worlds, through such a legacy ! 


A Mother’s prayers—a thousand harps in heaven, 
Attest the grace in answer to them given ! 

Ten thousand louder songs the Lord shall hear 
For grace in answer to a Mother’s prayer! 


Let grateful feelings in my bosom reign, 

And Jesu’s love inspire my votive strain. 

For one, enthroned in light, while here she dwelt 
Preferr’d in prayer the wishes that she felt: 
And, now my Mother’s journey aye is done, 

That journey I, with trembling, have begun. 

Nor I alone—a Sister’s step attends, 

And onward to the Throne our pathway bends. 
Another Sister, yet in tender years, 

Awaits the answer of her Mother’s prayers: 

Her Mother’s looks, impressive, mark her face, 
And hope anticipates her Mother’s grace. 

One Parent, still, before us leads the way, 

To meet the sainted in eternal day. 

Yet, which shall first enjoy that glad embrace, 

No tongue can tell—the future veils its face : 

I, weak in frame, dejected, walk along, 

Think over former times, and pour a plaintive song. 


May God attend our journey to the dead; 
His love, our joy; and sin, our only dread : 
And, to His Name, eternal praise be given, 


By all who serve on earth and glorify in heayen ! 
22 


MY SORROWS. 


These oaks, in mossy mantles hoar, 
Their wither’d branches now dispread, 
O’er one whose pleasures are no more— 
O’er one whose warmest hopes are dead. 


Through hazy clouds, her cheerless way, 
The pallid queen of heaven pursues; 
Emitting still a sickly ray, 
And bathing earth in baleful dews. 


The passing wind, with sullen moan, 
O’er yonder grave-yard slowly sweeps ; 
And by that dim-discover’d stone, 
A broken-hearted widow weeps. 


The stream that glimmers through the vale, 
Her weedy garden sadly laves ; 

But she delights, though faint and pale, 
To weep amidst the field of graves. 


Ah! let no sound of mirth intrude, 

To break the silence reigning here! 
srief consecrates this solitude, 

With hopeless sigh and burning tear! 


259 


Thou, Pity! heaven-descended maid ! 
With pensive eyes of liquid blue ! 

O, visit thou this mournful shade— 
With sorrow sympathize anew ! 


Not twenty summers on my path, 

Have pour’d their horns of golden bloom ; 
Yet dark misfortune’s fatal wrath, 

Has pall’d my mental sky in gloom. 


Fond nature, to my raptured eye, 

The brilliant course of glory shows ; 
I see the onward crown, and sigh 

To think the prize for others glows. 


Yet envy’s voice I scorn to hear, 
I would the meed in triumph gain; 
But sadly sinks my soul with fear, 
Fast bound in fate’s relentless chain. 


The hectic glow that warms my cheek, 
Allures the heartless dragon—death : 

And friendly tears most keenly speak, 
The quick surrender of my breath. 


For me no more the glowing hearth 
Of home, and all its charms, appear; 
An outcast on the face of earth, 
And doom’d the stranger’s scorn to bear. 


Twelve moons have scarcely sway’d the sky, 
Since all the joys of home were mine! 

No tears of sorrow dimm’d mine eye, 
Save, sainted Mother! tears for thine! 


256 


Alas! again that painful thought, 
My aching bosom wildly wrings! 
Where shall forgetfulness be sought ? 
Oh, where are found th’ oblivious springs ? 


Can he, whose sister sought the skies— 
Can she, whose brother sleeps in clay— 

Can they conceive the pains that rise, 
When loving mothers pass away ? 


No! ye may shed the feeling tear, 

Where blooming verdure marks their tomb ; 
But ah! the motherless must bear, 

A night of unimagined gloom. 


There rise a thousand little woes, 
A thousand little joys, to tell ; 

To gain, from grief, a slight repose— 
To make the bliss, unspeakable. 


And where, but in a mother’s breast, 

Can woes like these one sigh command ? 
Or joys receive as sweet a zest, 

As from a mother’s smilings bland ? 


Remembrance paints an awful storm, 
When rung, with beating hail, the dome; 
When howls proclaim’d the demon’s form, 
And swift destruction rent our home. 


Then, o’er that storm, maternal love— 
A rainbow, to our sight was given! 

And while our gaze was fix’d above, 
It gently vanish’d into heaven! 


OT 

I’ve watch’d the early, crimson streak ; 
And upward glancing golden ray! 

Have seen the mountain’s kindled peak, 
And hail’d the flood of glowing day! 


And thus, I vainly hoped, would be, 
The opening of my youthful years ; 
That glory should arise on me ; 
And bright’ning fortune chase my fears! 


But, sick, and homeless, and bereft,— 
I claim thy guidance, O, Despair! 

My mother’s tomb-star still is left— 
Conduct my tottering footsteps there ! 


OPPORTUNITY. 


“ How blessings brighten as they take their flight!”—Youne. 


Time onward flew—but his fair offspring staid ; 
Young Opportunity !—with angel smile: 

Loose in his hand he held a gift for man, 
Which oft, he, offering, waved with wanton wile. 


And men collected round that angel’s form, 

They praised his beauty and his kindness too; 
His golden wings were folded by his side, 

And bright his blooming face appeared to view. 


But man! oh, foolish man! in wonder lost, 
Ne’er stretch’d his hand that blessing to receive; 
When Time, again come round, summon’d his child, 
And left the simple mortal long to grieve. 


Oh! when that angel spread his wings in flight, 
How did his pinions glitter in the sun! 

His treasure shone more brilliant than before, 
And man, in tears, sat down and cried —UNDoNE! 


FIFTY YEARS OLD. 


_ A SONNET FOR JUNE 4TH, 1858. 


“THEN said the Jews unto him, Thou art not yet fifty years old; and hast 
thou seen Abraham?”—JOHN Viii. 57. 


Not far from fifty! So, it seems, they thought; 
And yet few more than thirty had gone by 
Since o’er Thy birth the still and starry sky 
Fill’d, thrill’d, with glory-music, angel-brought, 
And earth-enchanting. When the shepherds sought 
Thy baby-bed, and found Thy smile and voice 
More fair and sweet than all of heaven: ‘“ Rejoice!”— 
They might have sung—“ For Thee all time hath wrought, 
All space hath treasured, bliss. Thy course foretold, 
Thy lips, Thine eyes, sighs, tears, shall never know!” 
And yet, O Christ! Thy manhood bent below 
Our sins, and in Thy youth men thought Thee old! 
I, this day fifty, still much older seem : 
O, sinless Saviour! sinful me redeem ! 


TO A FIRE-FLY. 


Little twinkler ! in the shade, 

Of the melancholy gloaming; 
Through the summer’s green arcade, 
Self-illumined, joyful, roaming : 

Greater thou, in reason’s eye, 
Than the worlds that shine on high! 


Stars on burning axles roll, 
Through infinity of space ; 
Never reach a resting goal, 
Never weary in their race : 
Rolling on and shining bright, 
Cheering all the realms of night. 


Yet thy light exhibits power, 

More than all the stars that shine ; 
Life !—though but for one short hour, 
Life—the breath of God is thine! 

Let thy little heart expand ! 
Wing thy lamp through all the land! 


He that made the hills and vales, 
Rivers, oceans, earth and sky; 

Talks in storms, and breathes in gales: 
Giveth thee self-will’d to fly! 

Greater power in thee is shown, 

Than in midnight’s starry zone ! 


FEAR. 


Beside me speaks the phantom, Fear: 
“The time of trial draweth near !’’ 

His hand is laid upon my breast ; 

My throbbing heart no more can rest: 
My trembling frame, my shrinking soul, 
Suffer, like slaves, his stern control. 


What! shall a spirit born to wave 

Its victor pinions o’er the grave— 

And then, from sin and error shriven, 
Surmount the highest star in heaven— 
And soaring on, from far espy 

The palace of eternity— 

And there arrived, an heir of God, 

Walk through the courts by angels trod— 
And oft of burning planets hear, 

And new orbs kindling in their sphere— 
Surviving all material change, 

With endless life and boundless range— 
Shall such a spirit, hither come, 

So far forget its native home, 

As thus to cower beneath a shade? 

As thus to own itself afraid ? 


Aroused by faith, I snap the chain 
And breathe my liberty again. 


THE CONTRITE. 


With weeping eyes upraised, he meekly cried ; 
“Hear me, O God! for whom thy Son hath died ! 
O let thy Spirit breathe upon my heart, 

And all the joy of pard’ning love impart !’’ 


Light beam’d around ; the contrite was forgiven ; 
Karth, sea, and sky seem’d lost in love and heaven! 
All nature shone more glorious than before ; 

‘“‘ Lord! thou art here!” he said; he could no more; 
A holy silence reigned ; a sacred fear ; 

He could but whisper, “ Saviour! thou art here !”’ 


EPITAPH. 


Earthly good is certain never; 
Morning sun may cloud ere noon ; 
Friends we fain would keep forever, 
Death withdraws, alas, how soon! 
Seek we then the saints immortal, 
Where they shine in glory’s portal, 
Smiling, beckoning, callinge—“ Come! 
Heaven is an enduring home!” 


HYMNS. 


THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 


We need not soar above the skies, 
Leave suns and stars below ; 

And seek Thee with unclouded eyes, 
In all that angels know :— 

The very breath we here inhale, 
The pulse in every heart, 

Attest with force that cannot fail, 
_Thou art—O God! Thou art! 


If, midst the ever-during songs 
Of universal joy,— 
The chime of worlds and chant of tongues— 
The praise that we employ, 
May breathe its music in Thine ear, 
Its meaning in Thy heart; 
Our glad confession deign to hear, 
Thou art—O God! Thou art! 


TAM a NITY 0. Fi G0 2)3 


When God—neglected or denied— 
From ancient tribes withdrew his grace, 
How soon the erring myriads strove, 
With phantom forms to fill his place. 


On every hill, by every stream, 

All homes within, all way-sides near, 
The hallow’d idols senseless stood, 

The helpless suppliants bow’d with fear. 


With gods for every foot of land, 
And every pulse of passing time, 

In life, no soothing peace they found, 
In death, no heavenly hope sublime. 


O Thou, the true and living God! 
Maker of all, above—below ; 
Eternal—self-existent One! 
How blest are we Thy name to know! 


One God—enlighten’d faith adores; 
One God—harmonious nature cries; 

One God—our common Sire and Lord, 
The brotherhood of mind replies. 


To Thee—Supreme !—to Thee alone, 
Be hymns of highest glory sung ; 
The source of joy to every heart, 
The theme of praise to every tongue. 


23 


THE TRUTH OF GOD. 


Can truth divine fulfilment fail ? 
Sooner shall star-crown’d nature die : 

Truth is the very breath of God— 
Part of his own eternity ! 


Karth’s every pulse may cease to flow, 
And every voice be heard no more; 

The forest, crumble on the mount— 
The sea, corrupt upon the shore ; 


The moon’s supply of light, expire ; 
The sun itself, grow dense with gloom ; 
And fairer systems, sphered afar, 
Dissolving, own the common doom. 


But, long as stands Jehovah’s throne, 
Long as His being shall endure ; 

So long the truth His lips proclaim, 
Remains inviolably sure. 


THE LORD’S POOR. 


Methought I saw the Son of God ;— 

The thorns still red, the nail-prints fresh : 
His patient look betray’d a pain 

Sharper than all that thrill’d His flesh. 


O suffering, saving Lord of Love !— 
Warm from my heart the language came— 
Could’ st Thou forsake the throne of heaven, 
To bear, on earth, such wo and shame? 


Thine own creation knew Thee not— 
Thy chosen cried—away! away ! 

But all the ardour of my soul, 
Kntreats Thee, Master !—stay, O stay! 


V’ll soothe Thy griefs, I'll heal Thy wounds, 
With trembling joy Thy brow unbind ; 
Gentile and Jew from me shall learn 
The common duty of mankind! 


Lo! crown’d with glory—changed, He stood! 
Sun-like, the radiant bosom-scar ! 

His hands, the orb and sceptre bore! 
And shone, on either foot, a star! 


267 


How sunk my heart! ashamed to know 
I could not bless the LoRD OF ALL; 
When, suddenly and silently, 
A pale group came, at Jesu’s call. 


Pointing to them—with smiles, He rose! 
But rising said—Disciple! see, 

Though I depart, the poor remain— 
Kindness to them is love to me! 


“STAND UP FOR JESUS.”’ 


(Dyina CHARGE oF Rev. DupLey A. TyNG.) 


STAND uP For Jesus! Strengthen’d by His hand, 

Even I, though young, have ventured thus to stand; 

But, soon cut down, as maim’d and faint [ lie, 

Hear, O my friends! the charge with which I die— 
Stand up for Jesus ! 


STAND UP FoR JESUS! Dear ones of my home! 
Who made me slow to leave and swift to come: 
Sweet wife and children! gifts of perfect love! 
Still, as ye catch my smile from climes above, 
Stand up for Jesus! 


STAND UP FoR JESuS! Thou, my honor’d sire! 

Blest with the heart of truth and tongue of fire; 

Whose brave example taught me how to live, 

Take from my lips the lesson thine should give— 
Stand up for Jesus! 


STAND UP FOR JESUS! All who lead His host! 
Crown’d with the splendors of the Holy Ghost! 
Shrink from no foe, to no temptation yield, 
Urge on the triumphs of this glorious field— 

Stand up for Jesus ! 


269 


STAND UP FOR JESUS! Ye, with whom I stood 
In purer, stronger bonds than those of blood: 
Church of the Covenant! favor’d, firm, and true, 
Remember Him to whom all thanks are due— 
Stand up for Jesus ! 


STAND UP ror Jesus! Listeners to that word—* 

“¢ Ve that are men,.go now and serve the Lord!” 

Only to serve in heaven, on earth I fall; 

Ye who remain, still hear your comrade’s call— 
Stand up for Jesus ! 


STaNnD up FoR Jesus! Ye of every name, 
All one in prayer and all with praise a-flame : 
Forget the sad estrangements of the past, 
With one consent, in love and peace at last, 
Stand up for Jesus! 


STAND uP For JEsus! Lo! at God’s right hand 
Jesus himself for us delights to stand! 
Let saints and sinners wonder at His grace : 
Let Jews and Gentiles join, and all our race 
Stand up for Jesus! 


* Exodus x. 11—Mr. Tyng’s text on occasion of preaching to the thousands 
of young men at Jayne’s Hall. 


23* 


GLORY TO GOD.* 


“@lory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace, good-will to men.” 


Glory to God! 
In Him alone we make our boast, 
And, face to face, from coast to coast, 
We lift the watchword of His host— 
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost! 
Glory to God ! 


Glory to God! 
Let highest heaven exalt His name, 
Let farthest worlds increase His fame, 
Kach Morning Star relume its flame, 
Each Son of God anew proclaimn— 
Glory to God! 


Glory to God! 
Let all the earth His power confess, 
His wisdom laud, His goodness bless ; 
Good-will and peace succeed distress, 
Christ comes—the Lord our Righteousness! 
Glory to God! 


* Written for the Atlantic Telegraph Celebration, by the Young Men’s 
Christian Association, at Jayne’s Hall, Philadelphia, September, 1858. 


271 
Glory to God! 


Be not afraid your hearts to raise, 
Be not ashamed to sing His praise ; 
Let Nature veil her borrow’d blaze, 
And Science shout in all her ways— 


Glory to God! 


Glory to God! 
At first He bade our pride retire, 
Then calm’d the deep to our desire, 
With His own hand safe laid the wire, 
And gave each wave a tongue of fire— 
Glory to God! 


Glory to God! 
Lo! now the Sea-Apostle stands, 
Redeem’d, inspired, with trembling hands 
- Blessing the fair united lands, 
And chanting to the crowded strands— 
Glory to God! 


Glory to God! 
Our fathers fear’d the foreign scene, 
And wish’d a sea of fire between ; 
Love sends one spark, with smiling mien, 
And lo! both worlds are all serene— 
Glory to God! 


Glory to God! 
Our flag foreshows the morning light: 
Its stars, indeed, are of the night, 
But long, and broad, and red, and bright, 
Its sunbeams break upon our sight— 


Glory to God! 


272 


Glory to God! 
The whirlwind folds its wing at last, 
The earthquake slumbers with the past, 
The thunder-fire no more shall blast, 
O Still, Small Voice! we bow in haste— 
Glory to God! 


NO NOs Unies 


Not unto us, but unto THEE— 

O Lorp our Gop!—all glory be! 

With grateful hearts, we now appear, 

To close with praise this blessed year: 
Holy year! Happy year! 

The Lord be praised for such a year! 


Not unto us, but unto THEE— 
Our CHURCHES cry—all glory be! 
With crowded court and echoing shrine, 
The only saving power is Thine: 

Unto Thee! Unto Thee! 
Head of the Church !—all glory be! 


Not unto us, but unto THEE— 

Our TRADESMEN cry—all glory be! 

When commerce fail’d, Thy richer grace 

With Noon-Day Prayer supplied its place: 
Unto Thee! Unto Thee !— 

God only wise !—all glory be! 


* Written for the Fourth Anniversary of the Young Men’s Christian Asso- 
ciation of Philadelphia, Jayne’s Hall, Tuesday evening, November 2d, 1858. 


274 


Not unto us, but unto THEE— 

Our FIREMEN cry—all glory be! 

Their halls with sacred altars flame, 

Their silver trumpets sound Thy fame: 
Unto Thee! Unto Thee! 

Like priests they chant—all glory be! 


Not unto us, but unto THEE— 

Our TENTMEN cry—all glory be! 

Their Canvas Chapel for the poor, 

Has welcomed thousands to its door: 
Unto Thee! Unto Thee ! 

As kings they shout—all glory be! 


Not unto us, but unto TarE— 

Our SEAMEN cry—all glory be! 

They knew Thee great where ocean rolls, 

But find Thee greater in their souls: 
Unto Thee! Unto Thee! 

Salvation’s God !—all glory be! 


Not unto us, but unto THEE— 

Our SISTERS sing—all glory be! 

For fears allay’d and hopes renew’d, 

For love restored and sins subdued : 
Unto Thee! Unto Thee! 

God of our homes! all glory be! 


Not unto us, but unto THEE— 
For all the past—all glory be! 

The year to come—O, may it prove, 
More full of faith, and hope, and love: 
So to Thee! Only Thee! 

Forever, Lord !—all glory be! 


CHRIST’S DAY OF POWER. 


(ALLUSION TO THE 110TH PSALM.) 


Thy day of power has come ! 
This holy dawn divine! 

And Zion’s hills, renew’d in youth, 
With dews of beauty shine. 


Now may the promised grace 
Be fully shed abroad ; 

And all thy willing people haste 
To do the will of God! 


The Father wills that Thou, 
Exalted at His side, 

Our only Prophet, Priest, and King, 
Forever shalt abide :— 


That all who love Thy name 
One Brotherhood shall be ; 
Kept by the standard of Thy word 


From all divisions free !-—— 


That all Thy foes shall bow 
Submissive at Thy feet ; 


276 


And heaven and earth, with one accord, 
Thy perfect empire greet! 


Let Jews and Gentiles cry— 
Amen! God’s will be done! 
Jesus! who died upon the Cross, 

We hail Thee on Thy Throne! 


SUNDAY-SCHOOL HYMN. 


If, while the Jewish ages 
Still added to the Word; 
Kings, Prophets, Priests and Sages, 
Look’d vainly for the Lord :— 
How blest are we to know Him 
So early in our youth! 
How gladly should we show Him 
Our love, in deed and truth! 


If when He came from glory, 
The angels flew to sing 
Redemption’s opening story— 
The Birth-Day of the King :— 
Well we may lift our voices, 
Rememb’ring how He died; 
While every heart rejoices 
To praise the Crucified ! 


If all who ever sought Him, 
Have had their sins forgiven ; 
And even children, brought Him, 

Are welcomed home to heaven : 
Look—look we all above us, 

And lift our hymn on high; 
For He who so doth love us 


Is smiling from the sky! 
24 | 


THE TRUE REFUGE. 


Thy Goodness is my refuge, Lord ! 
Here let me ever rest: 

I feel the Spirit of Thy word— 
Thou willest what is best! 


Thy Knowledge is my refuge, Lord ! 
Here let me ever rest : 

I feel the Spirit of Thy word— 
Thou knowest what is best! 


Thy Wisdom is my refuge, Lord ! 
Here let me ever rest: 

I feel the Spirit of Thy word— 
Thou choosest what is best! 


Thy Power completes my refuge, Lord! 
Here let me ever rest: 

I feel the Spirit of Thy word— 
Thou doest what is best! 


Thou art our Perfect Refuge, Lord! 
Here let creation rest: 

Charm’d by the Spirit of Thy word— 
God’s ways are always best! 


CHEERFUL GRATITUDE. 


A SIMPLE HYMN FOR THE REVIVAL. 


Lord ! we thank Thee, that the shining 
Of Thy face is not declining ; 
That the breathing of Thy blessing 
Still our heart-strings is caressing : 

So to prove Thee, 

So to love Thee, 
Oh, ’tis heaven on earth possessing ! 


Still Thy people are reviving, 
Sinners still for pardon striving ; 
Still Thy Spirit keeps in motion, 
On the land and on the ocean: 
Happy season ! 
Oh, what reason 
Find we now for full devotion ! 


Father ! Spirit! leave us never ! 
Jesus! help us, now and ever! 
Brethren ! keep from worldly straying, 
Onward march without delaying, 

Lift the Banner! 

Shout Hosanna! 
Upward pressing, praising, praying! 


CHRISTMAS HYMN.* 


A noon of glory fill’d the noon of night, 
A song from heaven was heard by mortal ear; 
The favor’d shepherds trembled with affright, 
The loving seraph bade them cease to fear ; 
And, pointing to the hill where Bethlehem lay, 
“For you,” he cried, “the Saviour’s born to day !” 


Then shook the golden air with glad acclaim ; 

Thick as the stars the angels shone around ; 
All, looking up, extoll’d the Father’s name, 

All downward worshipp’d where the Son was found ; 
“Glory to God!” they sang, ‘enthroned on high, 
Peace and good will, where Christ has come to die !” 


As now, O God! Thy Son before Thee stands, 
That Christmas music lingers near Thee still! 
And ah! the death-wounds in His priestly hands, 
Are fresh as when they bled on Calvary’s hill; 
While, long-return’d, those angels round Thee sing, 
And saints, yet coming, shout to see their King! 


O God of grace and glory! is there one, 
Who feels Thy grace, Thy glory hopes to see, 


* This hymn and the following one were written for a Christmas Festival 
in relief of a Church Debt. 


281 


Trusts in the cross, or ventures near the throne, 

Who stints the gift that now he brings to Thee! 
Far more than this, thy Son hath borne for all, 
Strike not the dimmest from His coronal! 


O let the Holy Spirit now descend, 

As to the early church, so let Him come! 
Inspiring every member, every friend, 

With mutual zeal to disenthrall Thy home! 
And when we press our pillows this glad night, 
Our hearts, relieved, shall bless Thee with delight. 


CHURCH DEBT. 


At length, O Lord! ashamed we see, 

How little we have done for Thee! 

Though Thou hast crown’d our life with good, 
And saved our souls by Jesus’ blood ! 


We were no people! some, with pain, 
Remember’d efforts old and vain; 

But most, of sin were dupes and slaves, 
And rushing blind tow’rd hopeless graves ! 


Then blew the trumpet of Thy Word! 
Then flash’d Thy Spirit’s two-edged sword! 
We burst our bonds, our freedom won, 
And now tow’rd heaven are marching on! 


We had no temple! years had gone, 
Since lost was yonder pleasant one,* 
At Thy command, the second rose, 
And lo! what greater glory glows! 


Thousands on thousands here have come, 
Like children to their Father’s home; 


*In Cherry Street, below Eleventh—now owned by the Reformed Presby- 
terian Church, of which Rey. James M. Willson is pastor. 


283 


They found within—the debtor’s call! 
Without—the placard on the wall! 


Father of all! how can it be, 

Thy children care no more for Thee! 
Thine altar,—suffer to grow cold, 
Thy very Mercy-seat,—be sold! 


Great God of glory and of grace! 
How can we hope to see Thy face, 
While proudly in our homes we shine, 
And let the curse still rest on Thine! 


Forgive, for Jesus’ sake! forgive! 

Speak, Lord! and still Thy church shall live! 
Shall shine—its sphere enlarging fast, 

Till all th’ eclipse be off at last. 


Then, with the shadow, gone the dread, 
All heaven in beauty round us shed; 
Returning thousands long shall raise, 
Salvation’s anthems in Thy praise! 


NATIONAL HYMN.* 


(eo nee 


“Tn the name of our God we will set up our banners.” —Ps. xx. 5. 


iis 


In the name of Jehovah our banner we raise, 

With its stars and its stripes pledged anew to His praise : 
’Tis the ensign of truth, ’tis the standard of right, 

Tis the herald of liberty, union and light. 


CHORUS. 


And this flag of our fathers, in God’s name unfurl’d, 
O’er their children shall wave to the end of the world. 


EE 


If it ever prove false to its glorious trust, 

May its foes drag it down with contempt to the dust; 
But as long as ’tis true to the blazon it holds, 

Shall the arm of Omnipotence bear up its folds. 


CHORUS. 


And this flag of our fathers, in God’s name unfurl’d, 
O’er their children shall wave to the end of the world. 


* This hymn may be sung to the air of Moore’s Song—“ 1 knew by the smoke 
that so gracefully curled :’—omitting the “repeat” in the fourth line, and 
using it in the second line of the chorus. 


289 
III. 


Here at home, with one sky and one land, let it be 
But the flag of one people, harmonious and free; 
From the north to the south, from the east to the west, 
With no treason to part us, no war to molest. 


CHORUS. 


And this flag of our fathers, in God’s name unfurl’d, 
O’er their children shall wave to the end of the world. 


IV. 
So abroad on all seas and all shores let it shine, 
As the symbol of manhood redeem’d and divine; 
That the down-trodden nations in triumph may rise 
With their feet on their chains and their brows to the skies. 


CHORUS. 


While this flag of our fathers, in God’s name unfurl’d, 
O’er their children shall wave to the end of the world. 


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LIBRARY 
~ OF THE 
UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 


A SCENE ON THE YOUGHIOGHE 


P. 500. 


APPENDIX. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHIC 


AND 


OTHER NOTES. 


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AUTOBIOGRAPHIC AND OTHER NOTES. 


Philadelphia: November 9: 1861. 
To an Imaginary Friend: 


My Dear : 

Wishing the attention of a combination-friend—one 
uniting all the qualities most congenial to my purpose, I take 
the liberty of addressing you. 

I proposed to print a book “of about three hundred pages ” 
—containing poems and illustrations, with “autobiographic 
and other notes.” The edition was to consist of one thou- 
sand copies. The popular and courteous editor of the 
“Living Age”—KH. Lirrriy, Ksq.—referring to the plan in 
his attractive periodical, remarked :—‘‘ We hope that this 
small edition of a handsome volume by our respected friend 
and relative, may be immediately taken up. ‘The Autobio- 
graphic Notes ought to be especially interesting—as his ex- 
perience has been long and varied.” 

It was not designed, however, that the class of notes thus 
specified should assume the form of a regular and thorough 
AvutTopiogRaPHy. Far from it. Hew men, perhaps, are bet- 
ter prepared than myself for a work of this kind, so far as 
materials are concerned; and it may be that these materials 
include characters, incidents, and lessons, the presentation 
of which would prove somewhat pleasant and profitable. 
But, there is no just occasion for such a production. How 
few are they who would care to have it! Alas for bereave- 
ments! Besides, if demanded, an appendix to a collection 
of poems would neither afford room nor be a proper place 
for it. 

The purpose was rather of this kind:—As the book was 
intended for circulation, chiefly among known friends; with 
some overflow of the edition in dreamy contemplation of pos- 
sible unknown friends; 1 would make such notes as should 


290 


be suggested by its contents, or seem likely to be agreeable 
to any sympathetic range of anticipated readers. They might 
be strictly autobiographic or relatively reminiscent; reli- 
gious or secular; «esthetic, critical, or otherwise. At any 
rate, they must be brotherly and simple; even though some 
of my brethren should smile at their simplicity. 

Now, therefore, my dear , L attempt the fulfilment 
of my purpose; though, of necessity, partially and in the 
most condensed form. The poetic part of the volume being 
completed, I find myself limited to comparatively a few pages. 
These, perhaps, may be best improved by a summary, in chro- 
nological order, with items and expansions according to cir- 
cumstances. Trying, on my own part, to conduct so delicate 
a matter with propriety, the understanding is that you are to 
be satisfied with the result, be it as it may. 


_ 1807, Apra 8. Married, in Burlington, New Jersey, by Rev. 
THOMAS Wake, an Itinerant Minister of the Methodist Hpis- 
copal Church, Witi1Am SmiTru Stockton and ELizaBEeTH So- 
pHia HewLinas—members of the same church. ‘The wed- 
ding-day was the bridegroom’s birth-day. He had just com- 
pleted his twenty-second year. His bride was sixteen months 
younger. Hereafter it will be seen that I might take plea- 
sure in tracing a remoter ancestry. . But, if this were all, it 
would be enough—that these became my parents. No won- 
der the tears started as that sentence came into my mind. 
Such a father! Such a mother! Thank the Lord, forever! 

1808, June 4. Born, in Mount Holly, court town of Bur- 
lington county, N. J., THomas Hewiines Strocxron—the 
first of six children, three boys and three girls; two boys 
and one girl dying in infancy, the others surviving to become 
heads of families. As long as king Gzorcs the Third con- 
tinued to live, my birth-day was celebrated throughout the 
British Empire—though less affectionately, it is presumed, 
than at home! 

1808-13. Having returned to Burlington soon after my 
birth, my parents resided there until the Fall of 1813. When 
about four years old, I was put to school with Mrs. N. P., 
wife of Rev. J. P., both Methodists. Doubtless I derived 
great advantage from her teaching; but the lesson which I 
remember best was that of being shut up, with my mates, in 
darkness and silence, in the little back room, during the 
thunder-storm! Even yet, I seem to see the glare of the 
lightning on the hearth, and hear the rolling of the thunder 


291 


over the trembling roof and rattling windows. The estima- 
ble lady is, I believe, still living; and I expect the pleasure 
of alluding to her again. 

1813-18. Home, for five years, in Trenton, the capital of 
the State. Education proceeded—first, at the private school 
of Dantet Coteman, Hsq., afterward Secretary of State, a 
Methodist also; and then, at the city Academy. At the 
Academy, I remember particularly the union of the boys of 
different departments on one day in each week for oratorical 
training. 

1818-19. From Fall to Spring of these years, our home 
was in Haston, Pennsylvania. Perhaps the first Methodist 
meeting in that town was the prayer-meeting in my father’s 
house. Attended the Academy there. Thence, removed to 
Philadelphia; and thence, returned to Trenton. 

1819-22. Homein Trenton. School, chiefly, that of James 
HK. Suack, Esq.—an excellent instructor. In the spring of 
1822, removed to Philadelphia. Schooling, afterward, irre- 
gular and defective. 

1823. Constitution impaired by nearly a year’s sickness: 
bilious fever, chills and fever, and varioloid. Friends thought 
me about to die. Our venerable pastor, the pious and gen- 
tle James Bateman, was called in to talk and pray with me. 

1824. My first publication—a brief poem, in the “Sarur- 
pay Evenine Post.” Thenceforth—frequent contributions, 
to various periodicals: poems, tales, essays, criticisms, &c. 


——— 


Hitherto, my dear , notwithstanding a natural in- 
clination to linger among the scenes of early life, I have 
glided rapidly from point to point, here reaching the age of 
sixteen. A poor sick boy, I then began, anonymously and 
very imperfectly, to act in public. What was my prepara- 
tion? Constitutionally, I need say nothing. Relatively, a 
few words will suffice. Nature, except the common subli- 
mities of the sky, had been shown to me chiefly in its gentler 
forms of level field, open grove, and placid river. About 
Easton, there was some rocky roughness, forest wildness, 
and hill swell. But,— 


“The cataract blew its trumpet from the steep;” 


the Summer peak of snow invited one 


—“'T’o breathe 
The difficult air of the iced mountain’s top ;” 


292 


and the ocean, though not very distant, flung its fulness on 

the shore, beyond the limits of my little locality. Society, 

in like manner, presented its plainer appearances in both 

Church and State—very different, indeed, in the style of its 

development, from the material conveniences and luxuries, 

and intellectual advantages, of the present; though not in- 
ferior, perhaps, in other relations, equally if not more impor-. 
tant. But, there was my humble home. The BrBie was in 
it—the literary light of the world. My parents believed and 
studied it as the Book of God. They taught me to do the 

same. I cannot remember when I began to do either. I 

have done both, though not as I ought, ever since. I found 
the Bible full of both nature and society, earthly and hea- 
venly, in all forms and changes, historic and prophetic. It 
was the opening, not only of the world, but of the universe ; 

with God, himself unseen, shining on it all with a light sub- 
tler than that of the sun, and touching my spirit with its rays 
wherever I turned. Skies and seas, mountains and plains, 
lakes and torrents, cedars, palms, and roses; lions and co- 
nies; eagles and turtle-doves; angels and men; kings, courts, 
and kingdoms; armies and caravans; Eden’s Garden and 
the city of the New Jerusalem; Calvary’s Cross and Crea- 
tion’s Throne—these and an almost infinite series of things 
thus became familiar to me, with a spiritual beauty and holy 
solemnity cast over them all. ‘The Bible, however, is an ex- 
haustless theme. But, other books were there. CULARKE’s 

ComMENTARY, in its first quarto form, came at ‘certain inter- 
vals, in blue-covered numbers, and was always hailed as a 

priceless treasure. And notonly Methodist writers, but such 

as Bisnorp Butter, Watts, WILBERFORCE, and HannaH 

Mors, were there. And the Wresitevan Hymn-Boox was 

there. In all probability my ear was tuned to its music and 

my heart melted by its pathos before I could read a line. 

Perhaps my earliest metrical recitation was the following. 

How sweet for a child! Itseems as though I were standing 

and repeating it again at my mother’s knee. No wonder 

that more than thirty years afterward I made sure to have it 

in our Church Hymn Book :— 


“Loving Jesus, gentle Lamb, 
In thy gracious hands I am; 
Make me, Saviour, what thou art, 
Live thyself within my heart. 


T shall then show forth thy praise, 
Serve thee all my happy days, 
Then the world shall always see, 
Christ, the holy child, in me.” 


293 


And not only the Hymn-Book, but other volumes of poetry. 
were there. Mrniton, and Youna, and IT'Homson, and Gray, 
and Cotuins, and AKENsIpE, and Cowper, and others, were 
with us. And so with books of other classes. How well I 
remember standing at my father’s side, in the stere, when 
about eight years old, while a travelling book-agent was try- 
ing to sell him an illustrated book of Natura History. 
The price was two dollars and a half, and my father hesitated. 
Meanwhile the pages were opened, the pictures of beasts, 
birds, fishes, and reptiles, appeared in all their attractive or- 
der; and my whole nature earnestly pleaded for the pur- 
chase. The money was paid, and the book virtually was 
mine. Not only did I study it, but copied its figures on 
cards, colored them according to the descriptions, cut them 
in half; and played match-games with them for, years after- 
ward. ‘Then again, there was the book of. Inp1an WarS— 
so exciting to an ardent boy... My first prose. composition, 
that I can now recall, was an Indian Story, illustrated by 
drawings and paintings of my own. . In a word, my parents 
were eager readers: conscientious also—delighting only in 
the best works. As to Rosinson Crusog, that, perhaps, was 
not in their collection. At least, 1 remember being on a 
visit to my. grandma and aunts in Philadelphia, when I was 
a little fellow; and sitting one day on the step at, their door, 
next to the old “ Enniskillen Castle” in. South Fifth Street, 
when a boy came up, showed me a ‘copy of the book, engaged 
my interest in it, and then offered it to me for three cents! 
Hastening to one of my aunts for help, and being cheerfully 
supplied, the bargain was soon consummated, and the Boy’s 
Paradise opened its gate at my touch. But, besides books, 
there was prayer; to which, of course, I was personally 
trained earlier than I can now recollect. “Our Father ”— 
‘““Now I lay me”—and ‘“‘Make mea good boy, bless father 
and mother:” ah me! has that dear voice been hushed so 
long! ‘To this influence was added that of the family altar, 
my mother officiating if my father were absent; and, also, 
of the prayer meeting and class meeting. The Sabbath, 
moreover, was hallowed there as I have seldom seen it else- 
where. Everything that could be done on Saturday, in pre- 
paration for it, was done. The house was full of, stillness. 
Reading was more exclusively sacred. Conversation was 
more solemn. At church time, the door was locked, and 
parents, children, and the “ hired girl,” repaired to the place 
of public worship. All day cooking was avoided, as far as 
practicable. It was a day of bodily rest, of spiritual enjoy- 
Zor 


294 


ment and improvement. But, my dear , this will not 
do! A hundred sources of influence must be omitted. 
Preachers, teachers, school-mates, and school-implements, 
must pass. Look at these dingy books, corner-cut to pre- 
vent dog’s-ears,—Grammar, Geography, Reader, Arithmetic ; 
with slate and copy-book. Lo! 


“Tn all my wanderings round this world of care, 
In all my griefs, and God has given my share,”— 


though no doubt graciously and wisely—I have retained and 
cherished these and other humble instruments, and here they 
are, but not to be used here. Fond as I was of play, also; kite, 
marble, top and ball; running, leaping, and wrestling; arch- 
ery—copied from the Indians, who shot small coins from the 
post-tops; a little gunning; fishing and swimming; sled- 
ding and skating; snow-fort building and snow-ball fighting; 
and, as already intimated, of drawing and painting; and, 
moreover, of pet-keeping,—as chickens, squirrels, and rab- 
bits; and, above all, of pretty little maidens—this whole 
world of boyhood, must be thrown off, like a bubble from a 
pipe, to break just as it begins to float and glisten. Suffice 
it to say, that I cannot remember a time when I did not love 
the beautiful, and revere the great, good, and true. The fear 
of God was always before my eyes, and when I sinned the 
mercy-seat was myrefuge. As to my literary tendency, that 
was an early development; not excited by companionship, 
but originating in the simple pleasure of expression and being 
confirmed by the relief it afforded in the subsequent loneli- 
ness of disease. As I approached sixteen, my third-story 
front room became quite a study. Between the windows, I 
had three shelves, suspended on cords, and supplied with 
some of my father’s finest authors. Under these was my 
writing-table, with its ready materials. Retiring there, fee- 
ble and fatigued, I would take down one or two of my favo- 
rite poets, recline upon the bed, and read, until from very 
rapture I could read no more. Then I hastened to pen and 
ink for my own record; and so, though little to my credit, 
gradually grew cool again. If enlightened and sharpened 
in College, by the wisdom of the professor and the wit of the 
student, doubtless | should have been very much ashamed 
of such trifles as pleased me in the obscurity of home. Still, 
I have never much, if at all, troubled publishers or the 
public for poetic recognition; contenting myself rather, for 
thirty years or more, with brief occasional and anonymous 
ventures through the periodical press, and with certain mag- 


295 


nificent ideals, reals if not actuals, which, under al] circum- 
stances, in more or less completeness, have charmed my si- 
lent contemplations. I now return to my summary. You 
see what I was—a simple English scholar, with these sur- 
roundings and influences. 


1826. Passing many interesting occurrences of the two 
preceding years, I here approach, with holy love and solemn 
joy, one of the most memorable events of my life. On the 
tenth day of August, in this year, my mother died. I cannot 
proceed without some sketch of one to whom I owe so much. 
I know that such sketches are useful. 

Evizapetu Sopa1a Hew ings was born in Burlington, New 
Jersey, December 9: 1787. Her parents were ABRAHAM 
and HnizasetH Hewxiincs—the former a Churchman, the 
latter a Quakeress. Her mother’s maiden name was Burr. 
Both families were among the oldest and most respectable 
in the Colony. The Hewutnas family, (otherwise Hewiine 
or Hutines,) had been variously prominent in England. 
Few stories are more pathetic than that of the execution of 
BensaAmMin and Witui1aAm Hew tine, in 1683, under Jamzs II., 
for their devotion to the cause of the Duxre or Monmovrs. 
Their youth, beauty, fortune, accomplishments, piety and 
Protestant zeal; the intercessions of their sister Hannan 
with the marble-hearted monarch; the efforts of their grand- 
father, the distinguished Kuirrin, to procure their release, 
and his subsequent answer to the king when called upon to 
render him help; are points affectingly treated in histories 
of the period. To perfect the sorrow, some have styled them 
“the last males of their house.” About a year after their 
execution, their sister Hannan married Major RicHarp 
CromwELL, grandson of the Protector; and, becoming the 
mother of six children, survived until 1731. Other branches 
of the family, however, had already been planted in America. 
Burlington was founded in 1677—five years in advance of 
Philadelphia. The next year, W1LL1AM and ApranAM Hew- 
Lines came from London and settied there. Until recently, 
the name has continued its living representatives there. Its 
deceased generations are recorded on the decaying tomb- 
stones of old St. Mary’s. When my venerable aunt, now 
more than eighty years of age, was first shown the biography 
of Bishop Wuire—the Wasurinerton of the Church—whose 
mother was a Hewxrnas; and found the family described as 
“reputable,” she could not restrain the delicate but substan- 


296 


tial criticism that the least the author should have said, was 
respectable. In the event of a new edition of that work, it 
may be well to remember this criticism. Without dwelling 
on other antecedents, it is enough to say, that my mother’s 
father died before I was born; but her mother lived until 
1839, so that I am able, gratefully and tenderly, to attest 
the extraordinary blending of dignity and benignity in her . 
every-way admirable character. On her death-bed, at about 
eighty-four years of age, as if in loving remembrance of the 
church of her long-departed husband, she relinquished her 
last peculiarity as a Friend, and, was baptized by an Episco- 
pal clergyman; and now, her body also rests among the graves 
of old St. Mary’s. 

Evizasetu was one of eight children, all of whom lived to 
maturity, three of them surviving still. How gladly would 
I linger on her history and character! In addition to my 
own recollection of her in later years, I have a manuscript 
account, occupying more than fifty pages, prepared by my 
father, soon after her death, for family perusal, “but’’—as 
he modestly adds—‘‘for no other purposes.” By the grace 
of God, she was an honor, not only to her relatives and friends, 
but to humanity, Through the azure interval of thirty-five 
years, the saintly beauty of her image glides to the present, 
and passes on, like an angel toward the throne. Physically, 
her constitution was delicate; mentally, clear, sound and 
discriminating; morally, resolute as well as affectionate. Her 
educational facilities were slight, in comparison with those 
which such a child would now enjoy. Worldly gayeties ga- 
thered about her, but without much influence. For a time, 
however, she became a novel-reader, to entertain a blind re- 
lative. But, soon, the Spirit of the Holy One made the lit- 
tle one a temple of glory. Before.she was fourteen, she 
joimed the Methodist Society—the only Methodist of her 
house. Thenceforth, her path was like that of “the shining 
light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day.” 
She became a model of conscientious devotion—humble, pure, 
and prudent; studious, watchful, and prayerful; plain, neat, 
and industrious; cheerful, gentle, and winning; “ without 
dissimulation, never saying one thing and meaning another ;” 
zealous for the salvation of her friends and neighbors; and 
always ‘‘strong in faith, giving glory to God.” I have been 
told of a season when her face shone, as if transfigured by 
the spiritual joy within. But, my dear , the necessity 
of restraint presses me. Moreover, you may be ready to 
check me with the question,—‘‘ Was your mother superior 


297 


to others?” I answer— Yes, superior to millions in the church 
as well as out of it; but, not to the myriads of true Chris- 
tians, who, like her, are “full of faith and of the Holy Ghost.” 
They only are thus transfigured who have “Christ within— 
the hope of glory.” The last nine years of my mother’s life, 
were years of affliction. It was in one section of her ances- 
try that consumption appeared. In her own generation, it 
selected three, of whom she was one. She was fond of copy- 
ing favorite passages in prose and verse; and here is one of 
the latter class that will suffice to show her constant spirit 
during the progress of the disease :— 


“Pain, my old companion, Pain, 
Seldom parted from my side; 
Welcome to thy seat again, 
Here, if God permit, abide. 


Pledge of sure approaching ease, 
Haste to stop my wretched breath, 
Rugged messenger of peace, 
Joyful harbinger of death. 


Foe to Nature as thou art, 
I embrace thee as a friend; 
Thou shalt bid my griefs depart, 
Bring me to my journey’s end. 


Yes: I joyfully decay! 
Homeward through thy help I haste, 
Thou hast shook the house of clay, 
Surely it will fall at last.” 


Ah me! how well I remember that harassing cough! Some- 
times, even in the earlier days of its development, and when 
ina distant room, after mournfully listening awhile to the 
spasmodic sound, self-reproachfully I stopped my ears as 
really unable longer to endure the intensity of sympathy. 
Sweet, sweet mother! what did she say? Let another of 
her little extracts show us :— 


“The same I yesterday did prove, 

I find to-day, that God is Love: 

And such as Thou art now to me, 

Jesus, thou wilt forever be.” 
So, in due time, the end drew near. I cannot describe the 
hundredth part of its blessings. “I feel peace”—said the 
meek one. “ My mind isstayed uponthe Lord. I have given 
myself to Him for time and for eternity. Here I rest.” Again, 
she cited the text; “He that believeth hath the witness in 
himself,” and then added—“‘ Bless the Lord, I feel that I have 
the witness in myself.” Often she said, ‘“O sweet faith. It 
is all by faith.” And notice this grateful and beautiful retro- 


298 


spection :—‘‘ Now see how the Lord has answered my prayer. 
Ihave prayed that He would bring me to.himself in any 
way. I have been brought through great afflictions, The 
Lord has abased me—now he graciously lifts me up.” Who, 
without faith, can understand that? Mow—He graciously 
lifts me up! Consummate depression, the moment of infi- 
nite exaltation! At last, the day of deliverance came... 
There lay the wasted one, calmly awaiting her change. With- 
drawing her hands from my father’s, she felt the pulse in one 
wrist, then in the other, and inquired of her mother if she 
were not, apparently, near her journey’s end. Understand- 
ing the question as an assertion, her mother wept, and could 
not answer; but my father, with trembling voice, informed 
her that she was. ‘Rejoice for me! rejoice for me!” was 
her triumphant response. ‘Then my father prayed for an 
easy transit—and then my mother breathed: ‘‘Come, Lord 
Jesus; come quickly”—and then, may I not say it? Jesus 
came! No wonder that I find such notes as the following, 
referring to my father’s narrative—“ Just finished reading 
this narrative again: with gratitude, thanksgiving, and joy- 
ful hope. Glory to God, to all eternity, for such a mother.” 
If, now, I take space within which to compress the subjoined 
stanzas, it is chiefly because of the fact that they were writ- 
ten about seven months before my mother’s death, and that 
I remember reading them to her. 


TO MY MOTHER, 


Now, mother! would I sing to thee, 
Who oft in childhood, sang to me; 
Thy warbling soothed to sweet repose, 
And fain would mine relieve thy woes. 
Then listen, Mother! to the lay, 

That trembles on the lyric string; 
Ah! while my artless fingers play, 

My sentry heart is sorrowing: 
For clouds have long obscured thy sky, 
And sadness weighs thy weary eye. 


Seven times hath Spring resumed her reign, 
And eight, the Summer crown’d the plain; 
As oft the Autumn poured her horn, . 
And earth the Winter’s famine borne; 
Since fell disease, by humid airs, 

Insidious, settled in thy breast; 
The parent of a thousand cares— 

The banisher of gentle rest. 
Sad, Mother! were thy lot indeed, 
But Heaven shall recompense thy need. 


Scarce fourteen summer suns had shone 
Upon thy path, when thou—alone— 
From ’midst thy friends, inquired the way 
That leads from night to endless day, 


299 


And though affliction shake thy frame, 
Tf still religion cheer thy soul, 
If still perfection be thine aim, 
And heaven’s bright porch thy resting goal; 
Disease may toil to close thine eyes, 
Thy soul’s refining for the skies— 


Yet ab! my strain would linger now, 

While thrills my fever-wilder’d brow ;— 

My veins distribute liquid fire, 

And burning tear-drops rust my lyre. 

Kind Heaven! ’tis thine alone to give, 
Thy servants here repose or pain; 

Oh, grant my Mother ease to live, 
Remove the long-supported chain. 

I would that health to her were known, 

Although by faith she claim a crown. 


Ah, Mother! bear my joyless song, 
And chide not for the grief I show; 
Such thoughts I would not now prolong, 
But cannot check my bosom’s flow :— 
For still I hear th’ escaping sigh, 
And see the sad, convulsive start, 
They exile pleasure from my eye— 
Like arrows, quiver in my heart. 
I cannot see my Mother’s pain, 
And, listless, tune a cheerful strain. 


And yet I cannot turn my sight, 
From yon celestial realm of light; 
I cannot coldly look above, 
And see the happiness of love! 
And God is known to hide his face, 
At seasons, from the heirs of heaven— 
Then bow we humbly to His grace, 
And think of all the good He’s given; 
Still will I hope through many fears, 
And smile with joy—though bathed in tears. 

Now, my dear , I come back to the summary. I 
cannot quit 1826, however, without adding, that my ‘“ hope- 
ful conversion,’’ and admission into the church—old St. 
George’s, M. EH. C.—find their dates within that year. Per- 
haps my regular religious training was a reason why the 
change in my experience was not so decisive as in some 
cases. It was not so much aninspiration of faith or hope, as 
of love. My whole nature seemed to be melted into one feel- 
ing of love to God and man. This kept me gratefully and 
joyfully tearful, at home and abroad, all the day long; re-, 
quiring various expedients to hide myemotions. Hver since 
I have thought myself more like a Christian in this respect 
than any other, but am not sure of it; and, at any rate, can 
trust only in the mercy of God through Jesus Christ our 


Lord. 


1827. After various efforts toward self-subsistence, parti- 


500 


cularly as compositor in a printing-office for about a year and 
a half, I became a student of medicine. Preceptor—Dr. 
Tuomas Dunn. Fellow-students, Samugt R. Dunn, and Ga- 
MALIEL BatteEy. Lectures—at Jerrerson Con_ueGe. Pro- 
fessors, McCLELLAN, Barton, EBERLE, GREEN, Rurrs. Mo 
CLELLAN was the father of the present Major General of the 
Army of the United States, who was then an infant with no 
visible forecast of his military destiny. In courage, energy, 
quickness and thoroughness, it will be hard for the son to 
surpass the father. He lectured with unfailing spirit and 
success on both anatomy and surgery; and can never be for- 
gotten by those who had the pleasure and advantage of hear- 
ing him. 

1828, March 6. Married, by Rev. Exisoa ANDREWS, one 
ofthe Ministers stationed at St. George’s, Toomas HEw.ines 
Stockton and Anna RoE~E McCurpy. ‘The bride was a 
daughter of Joun McCurpy, a Methodist from County An- 
trim in the north of Ireland, and Martua Marripa Ros, his 
wife, also a Methodist, and a member of an old Philadelphia 
family. Soon after, as had been anticipated, my father-in- 
law removed to the “Forks of the Yough,” between the 
Youghiogheny and Monongahela rivers, in the western part 
of the State. His new home was on the west bank of the 
Youghiogheny—a wild but healthy, fertile and beautiful re- 
gion, which it afterward became a great pleasure to us oc- 
casionally to visit. ‘The same year I joined a literary and 
debating society, just organized, and called the “ Hickory 
Club:” in compliment, I suppose, to General Jackson, as 
Old Hickory. Among its members, were GamMALtEL BalLey, 
Cuarites Nayrior, Ropert T. Conran, Samuent R. Dunn, 
JosEPH Harnest, and others, chiefly students of Law and 
Medicine, whose subsequent destinies, however distinguished, 
I cannot now record. It is natural, though, to cling to the 
memory of early friends. 

1829, May 31. Preached my first sermon, Sabbath after- 
noon, at an unoccupied country-seat, in the vicinity of Phila- 
delphia. The next two Sabbaths, a second and third fol- 
lowed, one in the city and the other at the place first men- 
tioned; and then, on the fourth Sabbath, a ‘stranger in a 
strange land,” I officiated twice, as a circuit preacher, at Eas- 
ton, Talbot County, on the Eastern shore of Maryland. 


Here, my dear , it seems needful to pause again: 
but with the same restraint for want of room. The greatest 


301 


comfort I find in a review of my life is derived from the trust , 
that it has been overruled by Divine Providence. No em- 
ployment seemed the right one. I was stopped from print- 
ing, by the tetter on my hands—-a disease occasioned, per- 
haps, by the type; and which I never had before nor since. 
The study of medicine was interesting, but I shrunk from 
the thought of its practice. Literature had charmed me 
most; but I was not duly trained to it, and had neither skill 
nor opportunity to live by it. Within the five years, from 
1824 to 1829, I had issued a prospectus for one paper, been 
announced as editor of another, acted as silent editor of a 
third, and corresponded, to quite a considerable extent, with 
various publications; but with scarcely any substantial re- 
compense. My wife’s needle, during the last year, was worth 
more than my pen. In short, like a tacking vessel, my sails 
were all in a flutter—waiting for the desired inspiration. Tor 
about three years, my most intimate friend had been Gama- 
LIEL Barney. We were soul-brothers. One day, standing 
at the south-west corner of Sixth and Race Streets, this friend 
and I were engaged in confidential conversation, during 
which I was prompted to the remark, perhaps for the first 
time in my life, that I had often thought 1 could do more 
good by preaching the gospel, than in any other way. Why 
not begin, then? But I had never been requested even to 
offer a prayer. Finally, we agreed to go to the next prayer 
meeting, at St. George’s: did go: sat on one of the short 
benches near the altar: but received no call. My destiny 
was in another ecclesiastical connexion. ‘The Associate Me- 
thodists—now Methodist Protestants—had recently orga- 
nized. Doctor Dunn was their chief minister; my father, 
their chief layman. My training had identified me with them 
in principle, and the way now opened for practical union. 
One day, those two revered ones came to see me. I 
told my thought to them. ‘hey, too, were surprised. My 
father, however, remembered, though I had not learned it, 
that my mother expected me to become a preacher. He 
would be pleased—if the Lorp should call me to the office. 
But the good Doctor had a question: “Thomas! do you have 
family-prayer?” “I answered in the affirmative, and he ex- 
amined me no further. Afterward he informed me that when 
he heard my answer, he concluded in his heart—Well, if, 
with no one but his wife, he kneels down here morning and 
night to worship God, he must be in earnest: and so, he 
rested. Thus satisfied, in addition to what he otherwise 
knew of me, he at once proposed that I should preach at the 
26 


d02 


place already alluded to, and which he himself had been in- 
vited to visit, but without finding time for it. “You can take 
my gig,” said he—‘ Priscilla [his daughter] will ride out with 
you; Samuel and Gamaliel can walk out; the neighbors, no- 
tified beforehand, will collect; and you can make a trial of 
your gift.” Such, at least, was the substance. I consented, 
the appointment was made; and without other human li- © 
cense I prepared and preacheda sermon. Just then, Nicuo- 
LAS SNETHEN, President of the Maryland Annual Conference, 
came to see the Philadelphia reformers; I was introduced 
to him, and soon, by his direction, went to the Eastern Shore. 
Sudden and strange transition! What was my preparation? 
None at all—in the ordinary professional sense. But, by na- 
ture, providence and grace; by home, school and church; by 
the Bible, and the general range of English literature, so 
far as it came within my reach, and proved attractive, I had 
been made observant, thoughtful, reverent and prayerful— 
had been awakened to a consciousness of at least seeming 
adaptation, with some impression of duty, some impulse of 
desire, and some effort in self-culture. When I satin the 
congregation, under the ministry of such men as Dunn, and 
Cooprr, Rusiine and Pitman, Lypranp and Doueuty, PEASE, 
and Mervin, SUMMERFIELD and Bascom, Ruter and Smita, 
Reese and Hanna, (the two delegates from England,) and 
Marri, and Cookman, and others, all, except Dr. Hanyan, 
now deceased; it was natural for me to look and listen in- 
tently, not only with sensibility, but also synthetically and 
analytically, assuring myself pretty well of the plan and pro- 
cess of discussion, and deriving from the service and exer- 
cise more advantage, perhaps, than I then supposed. This, 
I believe, was all, or nearly all.* Thus I became a preacher, 
and the first four subjects I was led to treat, present, 1 think, 
though undesigned, a beautiful collocation : 
1. “Blessed are the pure in heart; for they shall see God.” 


2. “The lip of truth shall be established forever; but a lying tomgue is but 
for a moment.” 


3. “Bodily exercise profiteth little; but godliness is profitable unto all 


things, having promise of the life that now is, and also of that which is to 
come.” 


4, “Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and forever.” 


* Tt is due, however, to add that, although I never took regular lessons in 
elocution, and have always had an instinctive aversion to the art, as an 
art, I frequently met Professor WuiT#, of this city, at the house of some friend, 
and heard enough of his style to appreciate it highly as natural and true. 
Moreover, he would be a dull scholar who could hear even one lesson from 
such a master without memorable profit. I have always taken pleasure in 
commending him to inquirers for instruction. 


305 


Purity, Truth, and Practical Godliness, with all their Pro- 
mises, dependent on the Immutable Divinity and Redeeming 
Mercy of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ! There, too, 
was a fine circuit for a young man of twenty-one, with a col- 
league of sixteen—the admirable and memorable Caar.es 
Jacoss:* a circuit extending from St. Michael’s to Rock 
Hall; sweeping through the counties of Talbot, Caroline, 
Queen Anne, and Kent; comprehending four “old side” cir- 
cuits, as then called; and requiring a ride of two hundred 
miles or more to get round it. Ina few years, we also had 
four circuits within the same limits. Occasionally I rode 
twenty miles on the Sabbath, and preached three times, be- 
sides leading classes. Our places were the best we could 
get: court-houses, school-houses, farm-houses; some vacant 
church or vestry-room, or ball-room; or, in the summer, the 
tinted and tented forest. How I would like to linger on my 
first and only circuit !—to notice the names—but, my dear 
, ‘tis impossible. <A fuil record would make a vo- 
lume. You can scarcely imagine the rigorous compression 
of the following items :— 


——— 


1830. Stationed in Baltimore, in charge of both churches; 
St. John’s and Pitt Street. Member of the General Conven- 
tion which met in the same city, in November, and adopted 
“The Constitution and Discipline of the Methodist Protest- 
ant Church.” Elected editor of the Church Paper: declined: 
recommended Dr. Baitey, who was chosen, accepted the po- 
sition, and thus began his editorial life. 

1831. Missionary at large—on account of delicate health. 
Travelled North and West. Resting awhile in the Fall, at 
my father-in-law’s, on the Youghiogheny, I commenced two 
of my chief poems, as they were intended to be—‘ Man,” 
and ‘‘Snow.” ‘The former, as will be seen by the ‘‘ Propo- 
SITION OF THE SuBJECT,” on page 65, was designed to sweep 
the whole circle of human interests, current and prospective, 
as affected by all the influences of creation, providence and 
redemption. I went a little farther with it than here ap- 
pears; but the only completeness it has attained, in thirty 
years, is ideal. So with “Snow.” The primary design of this 
was, to make a simple home-commencement; and then glide 
away on the snow-line, from zone to zone, and from one peak 
of perpetual frost to another, all round the world, observing 


* See his Life—by Rev. Dr. A. A. Lipscoms. 


304 


the character, condition, and customs of all nations. No 
chill was to check my spirit-flight; but picturesque contrasts 
the most magnificent, various and illustrious, were to make 
my white and sparkling stand-points, between the blue hea- 
vens and the green earth, perfectly enchanting. Snow, snow, 
snow! how diligently and perseveringly I traced its associ- 
ations, at home and abroad, in Biblical, geographical, and. 
other scientific text-books; in illustrated voyages and tra- 
vels: in extraordinary paintings and engravings; certainly 
learning more, and much that was well worth learning, than 
I should probably have cared to know without such an in- 
centive. But, the snow-continents of the frigid zones; the 
snow-masques of the temperate zones, and the snow-islands 
of the torrid zone, remain also among the idealities. 

1832. Again stationed on the Hastern Shore of Maryland. 
Nominated for the chaplaincy, in the United States Senate. 

1833. Stationed in Georgetown, District of Columbia. De- 
legate to the first United States’l'emperance Convention, held 
in Philadelphia—its first session in Independence Hall. 
Elected chaplain to Congress, by the House of Representa- 
tives. 

1834. Lorenzo Dow preached his last sermon in our pul- 
pit, and died in the house of one of our brethren. Visited 
him in sickness and attended his funeral. Death of W1t- 
riAM Wirt. Three Congressional Funerals—Jup@r Boutr- 
pin of Virginia; General Buair, of South Carolina; and 
Mr. Dennis, of Maryland. I*ew more impressive auditories 
ever assembled: President Jackson and his Cabinet: Chief 
Justice MarsHa.u, and the Supreme Court; Vice-President 
Van Buren, with Chay, WrsstErR, CaLHoun, and their com- 
peers of the Senate; Speaker SrEvENson, and the House of 
Representatives; Foreign Ministers; Clergy of the District; 
Officers of the Army and Navy; citizens and strangers; a 
great multitude, all silent and solemn in the shade of the 
Old Hall, with its lofty columns and ample dome, the Bible 
speaking from the desk, and the coffin in the aisle confirm- 
ing its sacred appeals.—About the close of the session, I vi- 
sited a distinguished statesman, under severe political disap- 
pointment, and was abundantly assured of the vanity of the 
world in comparison with faith in Jesus Christ. 

1835. Failing, through misunderstanding as some said, of 
re-eleciion ; I applied myself, at the close of the preceding 
and opening of this year, to the composition of the poem two 
parts of which commence the present volume—“ Farru anD 
Sieut.” In this instance, my scheme came nearer consum- 


305 


mation than in any other similar scope. In about a month, 
I wrote more than three thousand five hundred lines, passing 
through the Five Parts intended, making an Index, and con- 
templating publication. Still, it was only in outline, and re- 
quired revision,,which circumstances prevented; and soit has 
remained a secret thing even to myself, its image indeed of- 
ten present, but its record seldom touched. ‘The two merely 
introductory parts of it, as already stated, are here; but the 
three main parts—the World of Sight and the World of Faith, 
or the Sense-World and Spirit-World, with the conclusion, 
summing up results of Truth and Duty—await due encou- 
ragements. The plan, as usual, is comprehensive of all the 
variety of earth and heaven. Alas for inadequate realiza- 
tions, and the restraints which occasion them !—In the Spring 
I was appointed Travelling Agent, to assist in the establish- 
ment of the Church Book Concern. Acted chiefly in the 
West. When the winter came on, was re-elected to the chap- 
laincy, and repaired to W ashington. 

1836. Stationed again in Baltimore—in charge of St. 
John’s 

1837. Finished the compilation of the Hymn-Boox of the 
MernHopist Protestant Cuurog, in fulfilment of commis- 
sions from the General Conference and Book Committee. 
This was a much more laborious work than would generally 
be supposed. It was the first Methodist Hymn Book to give 
the names of authors. Health still depressed: visited 
Charleston, 8. C., in company with Rev. Isaac WesstER— 
but, notwithstanding all kind attentions, was rather injured 
than improved. 

1838. Home still in Baltimore. Greatly excited by the 
duel of Graves and Crutuy. Therefore, the poem in this 
volume. Since the book was put to press, I wrote to a dis- 
tinguished gentleman of Kentucky to inquire concerning the 
truth or error of certain newspaper statements regarding the 
last days of the survivor, Mr. Graves: expecting to notice 
the case more fully here. But I have not room. Suffice it 
to say, that the gentleman alluded to replied in such a man- 
ner as to relieve the memory of Mr. Graves in the matter 
involved.—Elected by the Annual Conference to the Gene- 
ral Conference. Effort, by instructions, to bind the dele- 
gates on the subject of slavery. As I could not consent to 
this, I proposed to resign. Instructions failed. At the Ge- 
neral Conference, which was held in Pittsburgh, after a three 
days’ debate on the vexed question, I was elected editor of 
the Church Paper again, and the interest committed to my 

26* 


5306 


discretion. On my return to Baltimore, the Book Commit- 
tee resolved that nothing should be admitted into the paper 
on the subject of slavery—thus undoing all that had been 
done. Considering this a virtual enslavement of myself, the 
press, and the church, of course I resigned. Soon after, I 
removed to Philadelphia; became Lecturer to the Philadel- 
phia Institute, an association for the Improvement of Young - 
Men, and ministered in their Hall also to a new Methodist 
Protestant Congregation. 

1838-47. Nine years in Philadelphia—among the most 
busy, most hopeful, most joyous, and in part, the most se- 
verely trying of my life. I would gladly dwell upon them, 
but cannot. When I review the interval, the things which 
please me most, are such as these:—The Institute Meetings 
of Young Men: the prosperity and usefulness of the First 
Methodist Protestant Church: and the more enlarged de- 
signs in behalf of Bible Christianity, contemplating, and ear- 
nestly endeavoring to secure, the promotion of Christian 
Union, Christian Liberty, Christian Literature, and Christian 
Benevolence, in connexion with a common Christian Society, 
Chapel and Press—many points in which plans have been 
adopted and accomplished by other agents of Providence, 
better furnished with facilities; and others attempted, but 
not yet fulfilled ; all of which, however, might have been ex- 
ecuted, and, in all probability, will be, when professors of 
religion shall learn to live less for self and sect, and more for 
‘“‘ Christ and the Church.” 

1847-50. Residence in Cincinnati, for three years. Pas- 
torate of the Sixth Street Methodist Protestant Church, for 
more than two years; then resignation in behalf of Christian 
Liberty, and the assumption of an independent position. 
Had been unanimously elected President of Miami Univer- 
sity, at Oxford, Ohio, an institution endowed by the State; 
but feared to accept the office, and hoped to do more good 
in the city. Proposed a Bible Church, School, Asylum, 
and Press; and, moreover, made promising progress, until 
the awful recurrence of the Cholera seemed to prostrate all 
interests. During its first year (1849) it had chiefly affected 
the outskirts of the city, but in the next, it preyed upon the 
centre as well as suburbs, and, of course, multitudes fled 
from its ravages. Many reminiscences here invite attention, 
but in vain. One only can be alluded to, that there the plan 
occurred to me of publishing the Bible in separate volumes: 
a mode which, though accomplished by me only in so far as 
the New Testament is concerned, has been fully carried out 


307 


by the eminent Bible Publishers of London—the Bacsrrrs, 
without any acknowledgement, however, of the source whence 
they derived it. The chief merits of the plan, after all, have 
not yet been practically illustrated. When, if ever, they 
shall be, I doubt not it will receive, in whole, far higher ap- 
preciation. 

1850-56. Residence in Baltimore, for six years—more 
than five of them at St. John’s, in connexion with Rev. Dr. 
Avueustus WessTER; and about three and a half, as tempo- 
rary pastor of the Independent Associate Reformed Presby- 
terian Church, founded by the late Rev. Dr. Joun Mason 
Duncan. Some of my most delightful memories belong to 
that interval, but, for the present, they must rest. One 
event, however, of solemn tenderness, cannot be omitted. I 
mean the death of my sister—Huizasera Hew ines Evans. 


H1izaBetH Hew.ines, daughter of W. 8. and E.S. Stock- 
TON, was born in Trenton, New Jersey, September 21: 1817, 
the youngest of the family. She was of a remarkably deli- 
cate constitution; and even when she grew to womanhood 
seemed still like a child to me, a little, slender, sprightly 
creature, with beautifully moulded head, dark hair, brilliant 
eyes, smiling lips, and cheerful voice; innocent, loving, gen- 
tle, gay; full of poetic music and fancy; timid in regard to 
her religious experience, but always desiring the purest, 
truest, and best. She was educated, with other choice 
spirits, at the school of the Rev. Cuarues ALDEN, in Phila- 
delphia; and very early exercised her genius as a corres- 
pondent of several leading literary publications. She mar- 
ried Dr. M. F. T. Evans, a native of South Carolina, and re- 
moved to Paineville, Amelia county, Virginia, where her hus- 
band secured a good practice, and where she continued, as 
the charm of the household and a blessing to the neighbor- 
hood, until the third day of January, 1856, when God called 
her, as we trust, to the holiness and happiness of the better 
world. She left two daughters. Her body was brought to 
Philadelphia, and rests in the Woodlands Cemetery. 

In 1851, a handsome volume of Mrs. Evans’ Poems was 
issued; but, for want of due interest in its circulation, it 
never excited a hundredth part of the attention to which it 
was and is justly entitled. It has been pronounced one of 
the best collections ever presented by an American lady. 
It combines the spirit of poetry with the spirit of religion and 
the refinements of home in a manner unsurpassed if not un- 


308 


equalled. In Bishop Lee’s useful work, entitled “A Life Hid 
with God,” may be found some correspondence of Mrs. 
Evans with Miss Allibone, and one of her most beautiful 
poems—* The Land Far Away.” It would give me great 
pleasure to dwell longer here; but I must content myself 
with the submission of one piece, the sentiment and cadence 
of which appear to me to be worthy of all commendation :— 


THE DYING WIFE. 


I. 


Weep not, beloved, that I pass before thee 
On the bright pathway to eternal rest; 

That first my brow shall wear the crown of glory, 
My song of praise be heard among the blest. 


II. 


But oh! rejoice to think what days of gladness 
Have lent their beauty to our earthly path; 

That no harsh thought or word to waken sadness, 
May shade with gloom the picture Memory hath. 


Tit. 


Think of the happiness, so deep and tender, 
That filled my heart while wandering by thy side; 
Think how thy faintest smile had power to render 
The darkest moment one of love and pride. 


IV. 


Think, for I know ’twill wake a pleasant feeling,— 
How ever kind thy words were wont to be; 

How mild the glance, thy faithful heart revealing, 
How soft the cadence of thy voice to me. 


Vv. 


And now that this frail form in death grows colder, 
A sweet, calm rapture fills the parting hour; 
That thou art with me, though a sad beholder, 
A witness of the dear Redeemer’s power. 


VI. 


For oh, were not His arm my soul entwining, 
How could I bear the pang of leaving thee? 
Did not His presence gild life’s day declining, 
What midnight darkness round my path would be. 


VII. 


But now I die, and yet my soul rejoices, 
Knowing that I shall surely love thee still; 
Even from the melody of angel voices 
That float around, and all my senses thrill. 


309 


Vill. 


For oh! if they in all their towering splendour, 
Enfold their glorious plumes round mortal forms, 
How shall the spirit of a saint surrender 
The joy of whispering peace amid life’s storms. 


IX. 


Ah yes, in danger ever hovering o’er thee, 
My circling wings will shield thee night and day. 
And when thy feet shall tread the path to glory, 
My hand shall guide thee on the shining way. 


xX. 


There, never more shall scene like this distress us; 
The Stream and Tree of Life we there shall see; 
And side by side, shall hear Jehovah bless us, 
And sing His love through all eternity. 


1856-61. Residence in Philadelphia, for five years more. 
Very eventful years have they been to me; but I cannot 
even make an index tothem. One event, however, I cannot 
pass. Writing on the evening of the nineteenth of Novem- 
ber, 1861, I recall the fact that, on the twentieth of the same 
month, last year, my venerable father ascended to the skies. 
The year since is, therefore, just coming to its close. Having 
been requested to furnish some sketch of his life and cha- 
racter—especially for a new history of the Church now in 
preparation, I must at least avail myself of this opportunity 
of a summary of his course. 


WiiramM Situ Stockton, first child of Samvugen and Han- 
NAH Stockton, was born April 8: 1785, in Burlington, New 
Jersey. His parents were both Methodists—among the ear- 
liest in the country. His mother’s maiden name was Gar- 
pINER—an old, colonial and distinguished name. His fa- 
ther’s family also was one of the oldest—all of the name, I 
believe, throughout the Union, being descendents of four 
brothers who came from England, and settled in the Pro- 
vince a century or more before the Revolution. My grand- 
father’s house was in the centre of the town, and in itself a 
centre of religion. Preaching was sometimes held there; 
prayer-meetings and class-meetings were innumerable. Of 
course, the teligious spirit was always present with my fa- 


310 


ther. His literary education was limited by the circumstances 
of the times, and hindered the more, perhaps, by an impedi- 
diment in his speech. But he, too, was remarkably fond of 
reading, and probably the more so because of his embarrass- 
ment in talking. He had an extraordinary reverence for au- 
thors. I have learned from him, that, one day, as he was 
coming to the house from the garden, where he had been ~ 
sitting in the shade communing with some pleasant writer, 
he concluded that he would rather be the author of a good 
book than gain any thing else the world could give. Some 
of the Friends—whose Society has always been highly re- 
spectable and influential there—noticed his love of books, 
and kindly invited him to the use of their Library—a favor 
to which he often gratefully alluded, and which he so im- 
proved as to acquire the highest esteem for ‘“ solzd Quakers,” 
and retain it as long as he lived. At the age of twenty- 
two, as previously stated, he married; then, removed to 
Mount Holly; then back again to Burlington; and thence, 
to Trenton. I have often thought that the strongest attrac- 
tion to him in Trenton must have been the nature of the em- 
ployment to which he was called—the place of clerk in the 
store of his uncle (by marriage)—DanreL Fenron; the prin- 
cipal if not only publisher and bookseller then in that city. 
There the English Classics were grouped around him; and 
his taste, naturally pure, was refined by the influence of the 
best models. There, in after years, and probably as a news- 
paper correspondent, he began his own course as an author. 
There his first book was written, though issued in Philadel- 
phia. It is an 18mo., of 270 pages, printed by Grices and 
Dickinson, and published by Jostan Suinn: dated 1820: 
and entitled :— 

“Truth versus ‘A Wesleyan Methodist,’ and other Objectors; containing 
Remarks and Animadversions on a book entitled ‘Methodist Error, &c. By 
a Lay-Member of the Methodist Episcopal Church.” 

The author of “ Methodist Error” was the late Joun F. 
Watson, Ksq., the well-known “ Annalist” of Philadelphia. 
My father, then in the freshness of thirty-five, and full of zeal 
for Methodism, thus ‘made his first effort in vindication of 
the church which he afterward labored so long, honestly and 
earnestly, to reform. In 1821, he published another volume, 
entitled ;— 


“Seven Nights: or, Several Conversations, containing Arguments from 
Xeason, Scripture, Facts and Experience, between individuals of Different 
Denominations. For particulars see the book. Edited by Jut1a ANN Pru- 
Le Sobriety: Published by Plain Truth and Honesty. Jazer Meanwell, 

rinter. 


311 


This also was an18mo., of 191 pages. As to its character, 
it was a decided plea for Temperance, four years prior to 
the organization of the American Temperance Society, in 
Boston: and so secures its author a place among the very 
first advocates of the Cause in the United States. More- 
over, it was useful in its day; and, perhaps, is still doing 
good. But the work which identifies his name and memory 
with the history and progressive improvement of American 
Methodism; and more especially with the origin, organiza- 
tion, and development of the Methodist Protestant Church ; 
was a periodical entitled “'The Wesleyan Repository.” A 
specimen number was issued in February, 1821. The regu- 
lar publication commenced in April. The first volume was 
a semi-monthly, of sixteen large octavo pages, two columns 
ona page. I was then in my thirteenth year, and well re- 
member the proof-reading in the house, and the tub-dying 
and clothes.line-drying of paper in the garden—the latter 
fact occasioned by the difficulty of procuring colored paper 
then for covers. The second and third volumes were print- 
ed in Philadelphia, monthly, with shorter page and solid co- 
lumno. All its correspondents, 1 believe, except one, were 
Methodists; more than twenty of them were Preachers, and 
fourteen at least were or had been in the Itinerancy. Sketches 
of several of those who have deceased may be found in the 
Rey. Dr. Spracur’s “Annals of the American Methodist 
Pulpit,” viz.—Hzexie, Cooper: Nicwouas SNETHEN: JAS. 
Situ (Balt.:) Henry B. Bascom: and Samus K. JENNINGS. 
These and others were certainly among the most respecta- 
ble and influential ministers‘ in the church. Asa Suny, 
and other prominent reformers, came in later. ‘The leading 
writers, however, were N. Snethen and the editor. My fa- 
ther’s name is connected with more than fifty articles ; but 
Mr. SNETHEN’s, with nearly a hundred and fifty! And these 
were not pay-writings ; but, for the good of the cause. Full 
souls filled them. In the eighth number of the first volume, 
two editorial articles on ‘ Church Glovernment” appeared. 
In one of these, “lay-delegatvon” was first uttered. Mr. 
SNETHEN, in the “Introduction” to his “Essay on Lay Re- 
presentation,” thus refers to those articles :— 


“The publication of those, broke silence, and to break silence, on the sub- 
ject of church government, in those days, called for no common resolution. 
But the credit, not of a mere beginner, is due to Mr. Stockton: his efforts in 
behalf of lay representation, were unwearied, and knew no bounds short of 
necessity.” 


My father himself, in a document prepared in 1849, at my 


312 


request, thus alludes to them:—‘ Those two articles were 
the first direct assault upon the M. H. C. Government. They 
gave great offence. I wrote to Mr. Syeruen, that I had 
brought an old house about my head. I was a Novice.” 
He was, indeed, a very simple actor; without the slightest 
evil design; aiming only at good ends; as true-hearted a 
Methodist and Christian, I presume, as the Church contained. — 
If the results which have followed, and are still in progress, 
are not to be regarded as Providential, I confess myself una- 
ble to understand them. 

And now, my dear , what shall I say of his course 
during the thirty-seven years that he continued a citizen of 
Philadelphia? In 1824, the ‘“ Repository” closed; its sub- 
scription list was transferred to a Committee in Baltimore, 
and a new organ of reform substituted, called the “Mutual 
Rights,” &c. Meantime, in Philadelphia, an effort had been 
made to expel my father from the church !—and so crush the 
cause by crushing its representative. JI would like to de- 
scribe that trial, with its picturesque associations. Like 
Washington, he had to cross the Delaware through floating 
ice to procure the document on which he rested to repel the 
charge. With this, and a prepared address, he met his foes, 
judge, accuser and witness, fairly laid them at his feet, and 
received from the committee, without their leaving their seats, 
a verdict that the charge was groundless—on hearing which 
the people were ready to carry him off on their shoulders. It 
may be well to add here, that, notwithstanding the prejudices 
against the ‘ Repository ””—as the pioneer in the controversy, 
no writer or agent was ever expelled on its account. The “Mu- 
tual Rights ” became the occasion of expulsions. But, the 
work of reform went on. ‘ Union Societies’ were organized 
in various parts of the United States. Secessions followed 
expulsions. Committees, congregations, and conventions 
multiplied; Quarterly, Annual, and General Conferences 
succeeded; all the arrangements, appliances and enterprises 
of a New Kcclesiastical Denomination required self-sacrificing 
attention —and no one was more prompt to render this than 
my father. As delegate, secretary, committee-man, composer 
of official papers, and correspondent of the press, he was 
‘abundant in labors.” Notwithstanding many cares and 
anxieties, and the pressure of civil duties for the prolonged 
term of seventeen years, it may be said of him, with all pro- 
priety, that, for about forty years, in whole, so far as laymen 
are concerned and the speciality of Church Government, he 
was the Methodist writer of America, if not of the world. I 


513 


think it likely that during that time he wrote more largely 
on that subject than all the laymen of Methodism combined, 
and more wisely than the great majority of its ministers. 
This was his ‘‘ruling passion;” or, rather, his providential 
mission. As one illustration, it may be now mentioned, that 
when, some years ago, the “ Philadelphia Christian Advo- 
cate” was started by the new friends of lay-delegation in the 
M. H. Church, he became one of its chief contributors, con- 
fronting, over different signatures and in different styles, the 
choicest champions of the system as it is; without a dream, 
it is presumed, except in the editorial sanctum, that the 
sharp logician and sprightly humorist were the same person, 
or that the veteran originator of the cause was among them. 
And what was the result? He, and many of his co-laborers 
lived to see the Methodist Protestant Church extended from 
Maine to Texas, and from New Jersey to Oregon; and the 
principles of the cause pervading the Methodist Episcopal 
Church throughout its more magnificent and most beneficent 
range. 

The preceding paragraph, however, gives only one aspect 
of his life, during that interval, and even that imperfectly. 
I might allude to the “ People’s Advocate,”—a political pa- 
per, and the sanguine hopes connected with it: to his agency 
in publishing the first complete American Hdition of Wesley’s 
Works, in ten volumes: to the Life and Writings of Wi1t- 
wiaAM Hazuitt, a Philadelphia merchant:* to the “Lives of 
Joun and Cuarutes Wes ey,” by Dr. Wuitrencap: to the 
Sketch of the Methodist Protestant Church, in Kay’s edition 
of “Buox’s Theological Dictionary :” to certain pamphlet 
publications, &c.,—but the want of space prevents. His in- 
terest in Temperance continued, and was frequently mani- 
fested in some of the daily papers of the city, his communi- 
cations occasionally appearing as editorials. His last com- 
position, left unfinished, was on this subject. I have alluded 
to his civil duties for seventeen years. During that time he 
was Agent and Superintendent of what is now called the 
Blockley Alms House. He was appointed in the old Spruce 
Street House, and had much to do, of course, with the remo- 
val to, and settlement in, the great establishment over the 
Schuylkill. Through all his term, that town-in itself had a 
truly Christian Head, but comparatively few, even of his best 
friends and supporters in the Board of Guardians, or through- 
out the city, were vary? to eae the whole worth or 


% © This i is a matter of niemory—not pe ‘fe c cély § sure. 


rr 
=f 


514 


influence of their officer. Here, alone, pages might be writ- 
ten. 

But, he outgrew Methodist Protestantism, and all other 
forms of sectarianism. He did not, indeed, outgrow his prin- 
ciples; for they were the eternal principles of Love, Truth, 
and Right, applicable to universal and perpetual Christian 
communion. But he saw and felt, more and more clearly and © 
deeply, that neither the root nor the remedy of our evils can 
be found in modes of government, civil or ecclesiastical. 
The root is in the heart, and the remedy is in Christ. Every 
thing Christian increased its power over him; although he 
still clung, with great tenacity and pleasure, to what he con- 
sidered the comparatively superior spirituality of original Me- 
thodism, as a denominational development. Therefore, he 
was most at home among the Methodists; although, strictly, 
for some years before his death, he was not a member either 
of the New or Old Church. He never withdrew from the Me- 
thodist Protestants, formally; but was isolated by local mis- 
management and general division. When the Northern and 
Western Conferences separated from the South, on the sla- 
very question, his sympathies were with the Free State move- 
ment, but there was no congregation in Philadelphia to re- 
present it. He gave his name to our congregation—the 
Church of the New Testament: but seldom had an opportu- 
nity of meeting with us. By force of circumstances, he was 
a Christian at ‘large, loving and communing with all, so far 
as practicable. 

But, the time for his change drew near. In 1828, he had 
re-married: favored, apparently, by a special providence. 
His second wife, also, was a Methodist—lHmuity H. Drean, 
daughter of a Revolutionary officer, and a native of Lees- 
burg, Virginia. They had nine children. ‘The mother, four 
sons, and two daughters, are now living. Several of these in- 
herit the literary spirit. One of the sons is a Union Volunteer, 
in the Army of the Potomac—a Sergeant of the California Re- 
giment, and stationed not far from the town where his mother 
was born. In the Sprivg of 1860, after so long a residence in 
Philadelphia, my father, with his family, returned to his native 
place. There, in Burlington, we all hoped that a series of serene 
years would find him still happy and useful; in particular, 
gathering from old associations and reminiscences many ma- 
terials for interesting records. He was then a little more 
than seventy-five years old; but had not attained, by nearly 
ten years, the age of his father. It now seems that he was 
led thither to die soon; close to the spot where he first saw 


315 


the light; convenient to the old Methodist grave-yard where 
the bodies of his parents, his first companion, and some of 
his children were laid; and, certainly, by a mode of death 
which we never imagined. The Summer passed, Autumn 
opened, and, on the third day of September, while standing 
on the wharf, surveying the old familiar river scenery, and 
conversing with a friend,a wagon was backed so near him as 
to occasion a sudden start and turn, when he fell and frac- 
tured his thigh. From that time until the twentieth of No- 
vember he was a sufferer—but then, at seven o’clock, P. M., 
a still and starry night, his sufferings ceased forever! He 
died in great peace. 

Gladly would I narrate his expressions during those months 
of pain. When I first entered his room: ‘“ Well,” said he, ‘‘ here 
Tam: an object of mercy still!” After awhile he remarked : 
‘“‘T have not the joys that some experience, never had; I can 
only trust in the Lord Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God that 
taketh away the sin of the world; the crucified Redeemer ; 
our High Priest and Mediator, who ever liveth to make inter- 
cession for us.” Another time, he spoke in like manner:— 
‘‘ All I can do is, to commit myself to the mercy of God in 
Christ Jesus our Lord.” When he had come within a month 
of his decease, he said to me, one day :—‘“ I charge you, if you 
survive me, as it is probable you will, to be very careful as to 
what you sayabout me. You are naturally inclined to mag- 
nify things; or, not to let any thing escape; or, at least, not 
to let any thing suffer for want of delineation. Your affec- 
tion for me might urge you to go too far. As to my partin 
our church organization—'tis all nothing. We were all ig- 
norant:” &c. Sometimes there was delirium; but it affected 
his senses rather than his intellect. Itwas wonderful how a 
question would rouse him to sure thought. Even while his 
perceptions were uncertain, his reflections would find utter- 
ance thus :—‘‘ God must do the work.” ‘God so loved the 
world.” ‘ Wonderful, that such a poor, polluted, ignorant 
sinner should be permitted to approach His throne of grace !” 
At another time, he said: ‘I never thought much of what I 
did. I have always thought, if it shall be found that I have 
not done more harm than good, I shall be thankful, very 
thankful.” One day I recalled him to rational apprehension 
by inquiring :—“ Father, what do you think of your own con- 
dition?” Pausing awhile, he replied :—“ Iam not now ina 
condition to answer.” I varied the question :—‘“ You don’t 
suffer much pazn now, do you?” “Oh,”—said he—“ I thought 
-you meant my sperztual condition.” “I meant your whole 


516 


condition,” I responded—‘ body and soul both.” “ Well,” 
said he, raising his right hand and putting it in a position to 
be brought down emphatically upon the left—“ 1 know one 
thing, that if I am not saved by the spontaneous love of Gad” 
—adding something indistinctly, but seemingly about rege- 
neration by the Holy Spirit—‘“ I shall not be saved at all.” 
Some time after, with his usual profound reverence, he prayed 
for ‘‘justification by faith, and peace with God through our 
Lord Jesus Christ.” At one time, I heard him repeat, in a 
clear and musical tone, rising higher with each repetition :— 
“Glory, glory, glory be unto the Lord our God forever! for” 
and then he assigned some reason about the salvation of a 
poor sinner like himself, Once he quoted :—‘God was in 
Christ, reconciling the world unto himself;’—adding—* the 
very meanest sinner on earth reconciled, and exalted to the 
same dignities as the highest. No difference : not the slight- 
est :” &c. Five days before he died, when I entered the 
room he failed to recognise me—for the first time. Looking 
me full in the face, with the appearance of recognition, he 
said:—“I did not know that you were sitting there, sir!’ 
“Why,” said I, “don’t you know me?” “No, ser!” he an- 
swered. Itrequired some effort to make him understand who 
Twas. After awhile, he lifted up his voice and remarked, 
earnestly,—‘ I am an old man, and it can do nobody in the 
world any harm to say—Principles and doings must be 
alike!” ‘That was an incidental illustration of his own fide- 
lity to principle. Among his prayers was one for the mercy 
of the Lord in the ‘‘separation ” of his body and soul. And 
so, when the time came, in the presence of his wife, and all 
his children, with other relatives, he calmly yielded his spirit 
to the love of Him who gave it, and left bis body to be gio- 
rified in the resurrection. Rather than attempt to describe 
his character within such limits as these, 1 commend it to 
the imagination of those who know how to estimate the true 
nobility of our redeemed nature. Some other occasion may 
more fitly answer my filial desire. 

On the day of the funeral, the remains were borne to the 
Broad Street Methodist Episcopal Church, and thence, after 
service, to their proper rest beside those of my mother. ‘The 
officiating ministers were Messrs. Brown and Mappux, the 
two Methodist pastors; Rossrns, Presbyterian; and J. G. 
Witson, Independent. ‘The service began with the hymn— 
“Servant of God! well done ;” and the very appropriate ser- 
mon, delivered by the last named minister, a personal friend 
for many years, was on the text :—“ He that is our God is 


orn 


the God of salvation; and to God the Lord belong the issues 
from death.”—Ps. xviii. 20. 


And now, my dear , that I must close these ‘“Norrs,” 
I cannot but regret, again, that they are so different from 
what I intended, and so incomplete. They do not even fur- 
nish an Inpex to many things which J would gladly report 
in full. But—this comparatively small edition is only an 
experiment. Supposing, for the moment, that there may be 
something in the book, which, at least as an intimation, de- 
serves encouragement; and, indulging my wish in the case, 
if it be proper to do so; I would say, that, if the edztcon 
should be disposed of among those who know me best, and 
especially in thes city, I would be most pleased ; and then— 
life—health—leisure—hope—ideals becoming actuals—somE- 
THING FAR BETTER! But—the will of the Lord be done! 
Amen: now and forever: here and everywhere! 

See: with the exceptions of ‘‘ Fairn anp Sicut:” “Snow? 
“ Man:” and “ Tue Durt:’—I have omitted all explanations 
in reference to certain Poems, each of which seemed to re- 
quire a few words—associated, as they are, with persons, 
places, or occasions of no little interest. Thus, “Menan- 
cHOLY,” “ Visit To A MotHER’s GRAvE,” “ My Sorrows,” &e. 
show the effects of bereavement and sickness on the spirit in 
early life; ‘‘Mettina tHE Icz,” was suggested by the deli- 
cate embarrassments of a temporary pastorate, with the pul- 
pit frequently occupied by candidates for a permanent rela- 
tion, making one feel as if he should stand aloof, except as 
duty imperatively called him to some of the homes of the 
people; the “Sound of the Midnight Train” calls up the 
beauty of ‘‘ Meadow Vale,” a fine country-seat in the vicinity 
of Baltimore; the ‘“ Deata or HENry Chay” reminds a wit- 
ness of his appearance and oratory in the Senate; the 
‘‘ PLEASANT Sprrit” is connected with Christian consolations 
during the prevalence of the Cholera in Cincinnati ; “‘ Tuanxs- 
GIVING FOR THE BisiE” has a similar connexion, in remote 
contemplation of Philadelphia; “‘Uncurckep VeERsE,” being 
inscribed to Dr. Barury, late editor of the Natzonal Hra, re- 
calls the exceedingly interesting incidents of his opening 
manhood; the “ Drata or Rev. 8. Doucuty” restores the 
image of an admirable pulpit exemplar; * ‘‘ Winuiam Kxs- 


* See Sketch of him in Rev. Dr. Spracun’s “ Annals of the American Metho- 
dist Pulpit.” One of his brothers, was the distinguished Landscape Painter ; 
another, one of the chief Naval constructors, at Washington. 


27% 


518 


LEY” brings up the whele Maryland Annual Conference of 
- the M. P.C.; “Cotumsus” is strangely identified both with 
President Taytor and Jenny Linp; ‘“Horsepack ON THE 
Hrrent” belongs to the scenery in the neighborhood of 
Cockeysville, Maryland, recently made familiar by the War; 
“To a SKELETON,” refers to the Lecture-room of Dr. Joseph. 
Parrish, the eminent Quaker physician, who taught a class 
in the session-room of the Old Presbyterian Church which 
was once so prominent on the North-West corner of Third 
and Arch Streets; the ‘‘Morner’s Prayer,” simple as it is, 
is retained because of its having been recited, as it may be 
again, perhaps usefully, by a clever boy, at a Sabbath School 
Celebration; and so, in many other cases. ‘l'o me, my dear 
, they are all links in the chain of memory; and, taking 
up almost any one of them, it might be made the pivot of a. 
wide-sweeping story. 

Moreover, my immediate family remains unnoticed—a fact 
which will only occasion a contented smile at our fireside. 
But, certainly, for the good of youthful readers,—and they 
might be directed to such a section, if otherwise uninterested, 
—J| did intend, among my very dearest designs, to make a 
erateful record of the mercy of God in connexion with the 
departure of three of our children to the “ Better Land.” In 
all, Providence gave us eleven children—seven girls and four 
boys: one girl and one boy died in infancy; a grown daugh- 
ter, wilh her babe on her bosom, passed away within a year 
after her marriage; another, in her fourteenth year; anda 
son in his seventeenth. Four daughters and two sons are 
yet with us. All the way from Oregon, came a sympathetic 
letter, inquiring for the subsequent history of the one alluded 
to in ‘‘My Davenrer’s Birtra-Day.”’ Ah! that was our 
first child, named after my mother, our affectionate, graceful, 
poetic, and beloved HrizaBetu. She it was who went with 
her babe to heaven. O, even in eternity, can I ever forget 
that trial? Yet, doubtless, if remembered there, it will be 
only with gratitude and thanksgiving. And the next—Jers- 
siz! sweet, sweet Jessie! and then Wi11tp, kind, and bright, 
and noble boy! Perhaps ’tis well I did not before re-open 
these fountains of tears. Blessed he God for the hope of 
eternal life! 

Indeed, when I review what I have thus hastily written, 
as the book closes its forms; seeing that my “Notes” are 
more “autobiographic” than any thing else, and yet remem- 
bering what an autobiography ought to have been, if that 
had been intended, I feel as though the mass of materials 


319 


were scarcely touched. If there be any sufficient apology 
for saying anything about myself, it is found in peculiarities 
of providential training, position, and employments, as con- 
nected with the great principles and interests of Bible Chris- 
tianity, Christian Union, and the incomparable completeness, 
and glory of the Church, as designed by our Saviour, and 
more fully described and illustrated by his Apostles. State 
Relations ; Church Relations; Pastoral Reminiscences; Pul- 
pit, Platform, and Lecture-Room Ministries; Bible Publica- 
tions; Hditorial Issues; Original Productions; Bibliograph- 
ical Collections; Proposed Reforms; Occasional Controver- 
sies: Material Enterprises; Embarrassments; Reliefs ; Re- 
wards; Successes; Prospects; &c.—such are some of the 
topics which it might have been desirable and proper to in- 
troduce. But, let them pass—with the following exceptions: 


BIBLE PUBLICATIONS. 


1. THE NEW TESTAMENT: in Paragraph Form; with all the Marginal 
Readings; and full Indexes. The pure, unbroken text, without even head- 
lines to the chapters. 18mo., long-primer type, leaded. 

This is the “Authorized Version,” as revised by the American Bible So- 
ciety. The omission of the “head-lines,” however, obviates some, if not all, 
the objections which afterward occasioned the rejection of that version, while 
it makes the text more exclusively sacred. This edition, particularly in its 
four-volume form, has been pronounced, by a competent critic, the hand- 
somest ever issued, in England or America. It is put up in any number of 
volumes desired—from one to twenty-seven, in the latter case each book by 
itself; sometimes in simple Tract form, without covers. Perhaps there is no 
estament in our language more pure than this; if, indeed, there be any so 
pure. 

2. HORNE AND TREGELLES’ INTRODUCTIONS TO THE BOOKS OF 
THE NEW TESTAMENT—supposed to be the very best—either bound in a 
volume by themselves, or attached to the Books to which they belong. 

3. THE STUDENT’S MEMORANDUM OF THE NEW TESTAMENT. 
This is a blank volume, beautifully prepared for *“‘ Notes” by the private 
reader—expositions, illustrative references, reminiscences of sermons, &c. 
The Testaments, Introductions, and Memorandum are put in a uniform series, 
when so wished. 

4, BIBLE TRACTS, or, LEAVES FROM THE TREE OF LIFE: a series 
of Inspired Tracts, as the “Sermon on the Mount.” 


Little does the world imagine what an Epic contemplation 
opens in these simple connexions! 


EDITORIAL ISSUES. 
1. THE METHODIST PROTESTANT LETTER-PRESS. Philadelphia, 


1839. Small quarto, monthly. 
2 . THE CHRISTIAN WORLD. Vol. I. Phila., 1840. Large quarto, Monthly. 
1842. 


3. $: Wilt likes 
IV 3 % ss Vol, II. © 1843 Octavo; »-6 & 
5. ce 6s “se Vol. Ly. ce 1844, 6 ce (T4 
fe e ¥ Vole Vie & "11845, 6 “ Quarterly. 


6. 
7 THE MONTHLY REPORTER. ts 1846, 8 Monthly. 


320 


8. THE BIBLE ALLIANCE: or, the PEN, PULPIT, and PRESS. Cin- 
cinnati, 1850. Octavo. Weekly. 

9. THE BIBLE TIMES. Baltimore, 1856. Small quarto. Monthly. 

Ds i cs Philada., 1856. ns « 

dM, STOCKTON’S BOOK AND JOURNAL. Philadelphia, 1857. Duode- 
cimo, Monthly 

12. THE BIBLE TIMES. New Series. Philadelphia, 1858. Small quarto. 
Weekly. 


Besides the above, specimen numbers were issued of 
the “Datny Curistran Worxp,” and, the ‘“Wrrkiy Curis- 
TIAN Wor LD,” the design being, in whole, to supply a series 
adapted to all varieties of mind and interest: the Daily, 
Weekly, Monthly, and Quarterly Christian Worlds ; and these 
were not to succumb to the pressure of either political, ec- 
clesiastical, or secular partisanship or advantage, but to main- 
tain CuRIsTIAN PRINCIPLE at all hazards. Of course, the 
poor projector had a hard struggle, and, so far as continu- 
ance of his press was concerned, ultimately succumbed, him- 
self—saving, however, his principles, and having the satis- 
faction of knowing that some of his improvements, by the 
adoption of other publishers, became common possessions 
and blessings to the country at large. It isa little curious 
that the Methodists of Canada have chosen the old name of 
my father’s work—‘‘ The Wesleyan Repository,” for their or- 
gan; and the ‘“ American and Foreign Christian Union” has 
selected mine for theirs—* ‘he Christian World.” 


ORIGINAL PRODUCTIONS. 


Besides the contributions of early and later life, in prose 
and verse, to numerous periodicals, the following publications 
may be mentioned :— 


1. THE PASTOR’S TRIBUTE; or, FLOWERS FROM THE PARSONAGE. 
Verse; pp. 24. Philadelphia. 1848. To help a Fair. 

2. FLOATING FLOWERS FROM A HIDDEN BROOK. A large poetical 
collection. Pp.168. Philada., 1844. 

3. SOMETHING NEW. Verse; pp. 24. Philadelphia, 1845. For a Fair, 
also. 

4, PAMPHLET ADDRESSES; on the BIBLE, TEMPERANCE, MINISTE- 
RIAL UNION, &c. 

5. OCCASIONAL SERMONS; on the Death of PRESIDENT TAYLOR; of 
REY. DR. 8. K. JENNINGS; and of the venerable JOHN CHAPPELL; as 
well as several Congressional Discourses; each issued separately. 
el SERMONS FOR THE PEOPLE. A volume of 420 pages. Pittsburgh, 

5¢ 

7. THE BIBLE ALLIANCE. (Fourteen Pamphlet Discourses, bound.) Pp. 
284, Cincinnati, 1850. 

8. THE PEERLESS MAGNIFICENCE OF THE WORD OF GOD. (in 
phe except the last sermon, but not yet published in book-form. ) 

. THE BLESSING; A Good Book for Children. Philadelphia, 1857. Small 
eae 


10. “STAND UP FOR JESUS.” An Illustrated Christian Ballad, with Mu- 
sic, &c. Philada., 1858. 

11. POEMS; with Autobiographic and other Notes, &c. Tllustrated. Phila- 
delphia, 1861. 


Of these productions, the ‘‘Sermons for the People” is the 
only book regularly published. Five editions of this were 
issued, and it is yet in as good request as, under the circum- 
stances, could be expected. But, the best of my composi- 
tions, by far, remain in manuscript, and by far the larger 
quantity also. I would gladly issue them, but have no pub- 
lisher, and no disposition to hunt one—while, as to private 
printing, my experience abundantly assures me of its great 
disadvantages. In order to succeed, and do good, a book 
must have some distributing agency to put it with the trade, 
and ‘‘keep it before the people.” Even in the present in- 
stance, the responsibility is wholly my own; though I have 
availed myself in the title-page, of the courtesy of a highly- 
respectable Publishing House, in hope of some little service- 
able distribution. 


Now, therefore, my dear , 1 must and will close. I 
thank you for your attention. If not as fully informed as 
you expected to be, you must remember that your pre-en- 
gagement was, to be satesfied with the result, whatever it 
might be. If, notwithstanding this, you are not satisfied—- 
neither am I! But—hope on, hope ever!” 

Adieu, ee 


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